Trouble
by PlainSimpleGarak
Summary: Some were born lucky, some were lucky to be born, and some were born with the spirit's attention and a gift for attracting trouble. Somewhere in the spirit world Uncle Iroh was laughing at his nephew's ongoing struggle to keep his grandson out of trouble. A series of inter-connected ficlets.
1. Omens

_A/N: An idea that popped into my head while reading drabble series. Each chapter progresses one year in Iroh's childhood, and each is essentially a one-shot which could be read separately. Together the snapshots blend and refer to one another to form a whole.  
_

_This series of 19 ficlets is somewhat AU (or potentially AU. Since there's a big hole in LoK canon describing Zuko/Iroh's family beyond, well, them.) Particularly because it assumes that Iroh is not an only child, and furthermore he is not the oldest child._

_I hit on the first because not only do I love building up sibling relationships, but because it seemed completely reasonably that a noble family ruling in a dangerous world like Avatar's might want more than one heir just in case something terrible happened. Understandably, Zuko would be hesitant since his sister turned out so well, but by the next generation they might be willing to try the sibling thing again._

_As for the second, well, I was stuck on how no one ever mentioned Iroh's status as prince once in the show. I got to thinking that he didn't seem tied to the whole 'be Fire Lord' thing someday and was more concerned about going out and doing the right thing. So I started crafting in my head why that might be and this idea popped up._

_I make no claim to Avatar: The Last Airbender or Legend of Korra. I did have a good time writing this and hope you enjoy reading it._

xXx

Birth

**Omens**

xXx

First had been Kuzon, auspicious from the beginning. Born at the peak of the sun, and sharing a birthday with Avatar Aang, he was named for a steadfast friendship from a time before the Hundred-Years War. Kuzon slept his first night under the perfect balance of the first quarter moon, another good sign from all accounts. Yue would grant the child balance and the ability to seen both sides of an argument. Mother, father and grandparents were all highly pleased.

Next came disaster.

A miscarriage, and a year later a painfully stillborn girl that even the best waterbender healers could not save. The woman who would one day become Fire Lady dropped to her knees and wept while the court murmured rumors that the line of the Fire Lord was once again cursed. Fire Lord Zuko had stalked past them all, silencing the malicious whispers with nothing more than a glare as he made his way to the side of his only daughter. She sobbed that she would not try again.

But two years passed and she once again prayed to the spirits for a healthy child. And he was born, whole and breathing, in the dark of the night under the new moon.

Inauspicious, the court whispered. Cursed. Unlucky. To be born without any blessing of Agni or Yue, at the darkest turn of the moon – the time when the spirits slip free of the spirit world and roam the earth. The child would be no end of trouble. Best to drown him now before the spirits taint his soul. Or brand him in case he is swapped for a changeling. The rumors and gossip reached a near-deafening din before Fire Lord Zuko barked at them to drop the issue all together: no son of the royal family would be cursed or drowned or burned or anything else this night.

Back in their chambers, his daughter was quiet, rocking the swaddled newborn into a deep sleep. Beside her his son-in-law, Sazan, was thoughtful and stoic. Coming from a long line of historians and fire sages Zuko had always thought the entire family resembled statues with beards. Still, Sazan was patient and even tempered, and both were welcome this evening.

"Is it true? To be born at the dark of the moon… is it a curse?" she looked to her father, gold eyes imploring.

Zuko fixed his daughter with an even expression. "No curse, perceived or real, can outweigh what the boy chooses to do – or what you choose to teach him."

"And what of the spirits?" her husband asked.

The Fire Lord leaned back, thinking about all his own uncle had taught him on the matter. "I do not think simply being born makes the child trouble. But I do think the spirits may target him for trouble." His voice had an empathetic ring, well used to dealing with the mess the spirits had made with his own life. "However, seeing as you have excellent connections with the fire sages…"

Prince Sazan stiffened and offered his father-in-law a nod. "I will contact my father at sunrise." It was not the first time the renewed connection with the fire sages had come in handy.

Satisfied at this, the Fire Lord settled himself, turning towards his daughter. "It seems things are well in hand. Now, have you decided upon a name?"

Her cheeks turned pink. "I did promise if it were a boy, we would call him Iroh…"

Zuko leaned back, a light smile playing across his features in the candlelight. A young boy, marked – no, targeted by the spirits, in need of training and protection so he could get his feet in the world? He could clearly see chasing after the boy, fishing him out of trouble, giving him gentle proverbs and sharp lectures. The irony was overwhelming. His smile widened. "I think it is a perfect name."

Somewhere, in the spirit world under the shade of the new moon, he _swore_ he heard Uncle Iroh laughing.


	2. Storms

xXx

1

**Storms**

xXx

The rain beat against the windows of the palace with a sharp cracking sound, interrupted by the roar of thunder, the fury of lightening and the howling of wind. "It seems only the earth does not want to spit its fury at us." Sazan muttered.

"We have weathered worse storms." The princess murmured back, tucked under blankets. Beside her young Kuzon slept soundly while baby Iroh rested in her arms. "It will pass before morning."

"But will we get any sleep before then?" her husband wryly asked. He was just about to settle himself down in an overstuffed chair when the wind battered against the windows again and there was a sharp crack. The shutters flew open, spilling a wash of heavy rain and a gust of wind in. The servants who had barred them before rushed to seal them again as Sazan leapt to his feet like a startled pygmy puma. "Doesn't look like it." he added in a low tone.

He paced around the room like a wild animal taking guard before his family; Sazan watched the corners of the room. He shivered at the temperature drop as the chill wind rattled the shutters, and moved to oversee the servants mop up the water blown into the hall. Once things were settled back in place he returned to their chambers. He stretched and started to settle back into the overstuffed chair when his youngest son let out a piercing cry.

The hair rose on the back of Sazan's neck as he turned to his wife and children. Kuzon was stirring groggily while Iroh's tiny face was twisted in terror, gold eyes focused into the darkness at the edge of the room, wailing. "I thought he was sleeping?"

The princess frowned, drawing her baby protectively closer. "He suddenly woke." Her own glittering gaze tracked Iroh's frozen stare, towards the edges of the darkness. "I don't see anything…" Her brows knit as she drew her elder son close as he woke, staring in wide-eyed confusion.

Sazan frowned deeply, his teeth clenched as tightly as his muscles were wound. He called a small ball of fire into his cupped hand and started walking in the direction his wife and son's eyes were transfixed.

He saw darkness, the light ripple of a tapestry as the wind kicked up again, a picture highlighted in his flickering flame. Nothing else. As he held his breath to take one last look he felt something brush past his shoulder. He let out a short breath, his fingers snapped out and the flame in his palm grew to the size of a torch. Still nothing.

"Daddy…" Kuzon's voice was groggy but his eyes were wide. "I saw something move."

As if on cue, Iroh wailed once again.

Sazan held absolutely still, commanding the flame to burn steady. He narrowed his eyes like a hawk does when seeking prey and focused on the very corner of his vision. In the blur at the very edge of the flame light he finally caught sight of it: the figure of a woman, white and nearly transparent. Once he convinced himself it was there, his eyes could focus on it completely. She had long flowing hair, porcelain skin and large gaping holes where her eyes should have been. She gave a whistling hiss as the flame grew near. As her mouth opened up, a thick line of blood dribbled out.

"_Boshinki_!" Sazan called out, falling back into a fighting stance. Flame danced protectively around him as both instinct and years of study on spirits told him this thing was dangerous. "Do not let it touch the children!"

His wife was already on her feet, with Iroh in her arms and Kuzon drawn behind her. Her face held a murderous intent towards any evil spirits bent on draining the blood from her children, which was exactly what boshinki were known for.

The prince lashed out with a quick set of blows, battering the spirit back until he could smell the smoke rising from the scorch marks on the walls and curtains. He took a faint step back to clear his vision, trying to corral the creature into the hall and away from the children. Sensing an opportunity the boshinki lashed out with its claws. Pain flared and the fire in his hands guttered for a moment as two long red welts on his arm started oozing fresh blood. Sazan bit off a short cry, the spirits' very touch felt like white-hot metal being seared against his flesh.

Faint sparks of red flared in the spirit's empty eye sockets, the smell of blood spurred it forward to press the attack. The prince redoubled his offensive efforts, praying that fire's capability to burn even spirits would protect him before another attack fell.

They clashed, fire meeting claws and slowly burning through. The spirit shrieked, calling and icy wind around its ragged form that battered back the flames. It surged forward in a rush of ice and claws, sending Sazan sliding back to parry the blow. With a disgusting cough it spat a large clump of sticky black blood at him, the wet mass spreading out across his forehead and eyes. Fighting blurred vision, he threw his hands up in a shield as the evil spirit attacked, steeling himself for the worst. Just before the fire-hot claws hit home a searing blast of orange fire blasted the boshinki into a heap against the wall.

"You will never touch my family." The princess' voice was stark and firm, sending a second blast of fire into the chest of the boshinki, which crumpled with a soundless scream.

Sazan fumbled, trying to wipe the black muck from his face. As he could clear enough away to make things out clearly he saw his children staring in shock at the orange fire which was slowly turning to blazing white as the spirit was consumed, and his wife standing beside him, puffed up like an enraged tigerdillo. The children had gone silent; as if they were afraid to breathe until they were sure it was over. When the fire faded, all that was left was a fine grey ash.

The silence seemed to hang in the air like a fine ash, only broken when the princess called for fresh water, salt and juniper oil to be brought immediately. The servants outside the chambers jumped when they heard her voice, as if startled back into breathing again.

Kuzon and Iroh stayed huddled on the bed as their mother washed the spirit wounds their father had suffered, purifying the areas with the dark yellow juniper oil. After she was done she drew a line of salt around the ashes and in front of the window, instructing the servants to not disturb either salt or ashes under any circumstances.

Sazan allowed himself to be helped back to bed where the shivers of two young boys slowly calmed to the faint murmurs of sleep. He rested his head on his pillow and indulged in a glance at his wife. "Will it pass before morning?" he wondered with a hoarse whisper.

She kissed his cheek, drawing both sleeping children close and ruffling their hair. "It will now. I promise."

xXx

_A/N: _Boshinki_ is taken from the Polish "_Boginki_" – an evil spirit sent to capture children._

_Also, powers that be: please to be officially naming Zuko's daughter. I hear a new rumor of her name every other day it seems and I'm not committing to any of them yet. -.-_


	3. Ice Cream

_A/N: I was at a loss for what to write for a two-year-old protagonist, so fair warning that this chapter is, in fact, pure fluff._

xXx

2

**Ice Cream**

xXx

The air on the beach of Ember Island was warm and salty. The golden sun left warm red streaks upon the water and its fiery kiss upon the sand. It was a perfect afternoon to stretch out, relax or play in the water, one that the youngest members of the royal family were taking full advantage of.

Iroh didn't know how to swim. Yet. He wanted to learn, certainly, but his father kept pulling him back to shallow water. That didn't seem entirely fair to him – his brother was out there swimming in the deep.

"Kuzon is older." They kept telling him. Older had to mean 'this mystical ability to get tall and do cool things' rather than younger which meant 'kick dad in the shins trying to get into deeper water.'

Truthfully, Iroh just wanted to be like his brother. He didn't quite understand that five years was a large difference between what the two boys could accomplish. His brother could make fire, which was quite possibly the most amazing thing Iroh could imagine. He could also climb trees and eat at the table with Grandma and Grandpa, swim and adventure past the garden. Kuzon most definitely got to do all the cool stuff.

Mother was calling, approaching the water and holding something in her hands. It was just enough to pique Iroh's curiosity that he stopped fighting his father enough to be plucked out of the water and dried off.

She sat down, handing Kuzon a brightly colored melty something on top of a cone. Iroh tried to remember if he had this before, but it looked good and smelled good and everyone else was eating it. That seemed to be plenty of evidence to support the idea that he did, in fact, want to eat it too.

Father scooped him up, offering a second cone to his younger son. Carefully he held both the boy and the cone, so Iroh could lick and the cone wouldn't drip.

Iroh took a taste and decided two things: one: it was very good, and two: he didn't need Father's help. His brother was sitting there, carefully absorbed in eating the ice cream. He was holding his own cone. Eating it himself. Mother was eating one herself, he was sure father would eat one as well. Iroh felt incensed – as much as his tiny body could muster. This was deeply unfair. He, too, could eat a cone himself.

Words were a bit difficult to grasp, even for his sharp young mind. He knew exactly what he wanted to say, but it came out as "not fair!" as he pushed his father's hands away.

"I don't think he likes ice cream." Father surmised, setting the boy down.

Mother drew her brows together, trying not to smile too widely. "What's wrong sweetie?"

Iroh waved his hands in the air, pointing towards Kuzon and then the cone his father held, struggling for the right words. "Not fair! I'm big!"

His Mother leaned back, covering her mouth with her hand and laughing until tears rolled down her cheeks. "I think he wants to eat it himself."

"He'll be wearing it by the time he's done!" Father protested.

"We are at a beach, Sazan. You can wash him off in the water."

With a sigh, Father relented and handed the dripping cone over. Iroh gave a short squeal of joy in his successful conquest and sat down on the sand. Carefully watching his brother, he gripped the cone by the bottom and started to lick.

Why did the top of his cone fall over? Kuzon's didn't! Mom's didn't! Well, it hadn't fallen completely over… maybe he could grab it with his fingers. It was cold and mushy so he pushed it back down into the cone as best he could, and licked the remnants off his fingers. See? He could do this.

Behind him Father twitched a little, eager to correct and help. But Mother shook her head once at him. If Iroh wanted to do it himself, there was no harm in it.

When the ice cream off the top was gone he stared forlornly into the cone, wondering how you got the rest out. He tried licking down, but his tongue wasn't very long so he resorted to scooping the ice cream out with his fingers. When they, too, weren't long enough he looked up, imploring his brother for help.

Kuzon chuckled, "Iroh… you eat the cone."

Iroh blinked. Eat… the cone? Kuzon took a bite to show him.

Oh! You eat the cone! Iroh grinned broadly as if this was one of the cleverest discoveries he had made. The cone wasn't quite as good as the ice cream, but since everyone else was eating it, Iroh decided he would, too.

When the ice cream was finished, he turned back to his father, golden eyes wide and immensely proud at what he had accomplished all by himself. Father groaned.

Iroh looked like he had been the main victim in a vicious melted ice cream war, with brightly colored sticky streaks matting his dark hair, smeared over his arms cheeks and chest. "He's a mess." Father fretted.

Mother reached out and ruffled Iroh's hair. "You did good, sweetie." She turned and swatted her husband on the shoulder. "Take him to the water and wash him off, and he'll be fine."

Iroh was way ahead of Father, his chubby legs stumbling through the sand. With such uneven ground he tripped a few times and landed in the soft warm beach before getting up again and running on. Father jogged up behind him and snatched him into the air. Iroh felt a small twinge of disappointment; he was _so_ close to going into the water himself.

Father took long strides deep into the surf. He wanted a place where he could dunk his little sand-and-colorful-ice-cream covered prince deep into the water and get the majority of the mess washed off. Iroh gave a cry of delight as Father carried him into the deep water, thrilled at the smallest chance to actually 'swim.'

Despite Father's frown, Iroh hugged him tightly as they headed back to the dry sand and father went through the ritual of drying off once again. Iroh gazed at him, grinning breathlessly until, finally Father smiled, too.

He got to eat the entire cone himself _and_ Father took him into the deep water? This was certainly the best day _ever_.


	4. Ambassador

xXx

3

**Ambassador**

xXx

"I demand an apology!" the barrel-chested Earth Kingdom ambassador roared, bursting into the Fire Lord's audience chamber unannounced.

Fire Lord Zuko's first inclination was to grab the man by the throat, toss him out of the audience chamber, and demand _he_ apologize. Then he would force him to respect the proper procedure to ask for an audience. Only Mai's hand on his arm prevented that from being his dedicated course of action. Gritting his teeth Zuko swung a cold golden gaze towards the man. "Ambassador Guran, what are you doing?"

Mai offered a sigh audible only to Zuko. While his temper had calmed considerably over the decades, his diplomatic skill never ascended beyond the plateau of blunt honesty. She rose, taking Guran's attention before he could start yelling again. "Ambassador, what troubles you?"

Caught between the nettled glare of the Fire Lord and the placating tone of his wife, Guran's anger wobbled like a tightrope walker on an unsteady line. "I have suffered a most grievous affront. One of your court has insulted me!"

Zuko leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting Mai take point. Just before Guran's arrival he had warned everyone in the palace to be aware that the man took offense to nearly everything. He had assigned the most well trained and polite servants to attend him and kept his interactions with the court to a bare minimum. If Zuko could have avoided hosting Guran, he would have done so at all costs. But the man was the closest cousin of the 53rd Earth King, and next in line for the throne should something befall him.

Add to that the repeated assassination attempts against the Earth King, and Guran was hovering between the first suspect and the most valuable family member should any harm befall the current king. Under the guise of re-negotiating copper export tariffs, Guran was carefully being kept at a safe distance from the investigation, and everyone was at wits end trying to avoid a diplomatic disaster or a dead monarch.

"What affront did you suffer, Ambassador?" Mai's voice was courtly and perfectly balanced between concern and aloof dismissal.

Cheeks red and fists clenched, Guran sputtered, "I overheard a group of youth in your palace gardens, and one of the quite clearly called me a…" He cleared his throat, "cabbage-headed idiot."

Mai arched a graceful brow while Fire Lord Zuko groaned quietly, biting his tongue. He could think of many things to reply to such an absurd complaint, none of them the least bit tactful.

"I demand you find the offender and have him publicly apologize to me!" Throwing his hands in the air, Guran's voice took on a distinctly whiny tone. "I will not discuss the trade agreement or anything else until you grant this."

Eyes flickering towards her husband, Mai put a hand on his shoulder before he did something rash and politely responded, "Ambassador, I will see this is taken care of. Perhaps in the meantime you can visit some of the historical sights you said you were interested in…"

xXx

Zuko's suspicions had gone from bad to worse within the first ten seconds of questioning. There were not many children around the palace, even fewer who were of a young enough age to not understand the need to hold one's tongue in public areas. And only one was grinning at him proudly.

"Everybody says the am… am… amwassdor…" Iroh furrowed his brow. He knew that wasn't right. Catching his grandfather's stern appraisal he decided to drop it. "Everyone says he's a cabbage-headed idiot."

Well, he _was _a cabbage-headed idiot. Still, Zuko fought the urge to drop his head into the palm of his hand. "Iroh, you do not call guests embarrassing names."

His eyes went wide. "I don't? But… what if it's the truth?"

Jaw clenching, Zuko shook his head. He didn't quite know what to tell the boy. "Sometimes we say nothing because we need to work with those people."

Iroh thought this over, his cheeks growing very red. It sunk in that he should not have repeated the insult and he looked down at the floor. "Oh…"

"It was the wrong thing to say. He wants you to apologize." Even as he said it, Zuko felt his anger rise at Guran's petty behavior, and a strong desire to protect Iroh from being a part of it.

xXx

"That rug doesn't deserve having a hole worn through it." Mai's voice was light as she entered the sitting room where their afternoon tea service was rapidly growing cold.

Zuko turned and stopped pacing for only a few seconds before stubbornly continuing. "I'd rather take it out on the rug than on Iroh."

She made a light 'tsk' sound. "It's not his fault; he's only repeating what he heard someone else say."

"It doesn't help that Guran _is_ a dimwitted, self-inflated fool seeking to take offense at the slightest misstep. Cabbage-headed idiot is getting off lightly." The Fire Lord growled.

"That cabbage-headed idiot could be the next Earth King if the Dai Li don't catch the next assassination attempt in time," Mai reminded him.

Turning on his heels, Zuko shot her a glare. "Bosco would make a better king than Guran."

"Bosco is a bear. I'm fairly sure Earth Kingdom laws require the king to be mostly human." A smirk grew across Mai's lips.

"Mostly human. I'm not sure Guran qualifies." He finally stopped pacing and sank into one of the chairs. "I don't want Iroh groveling to that swine."

"My dear husband," Mai smiled fondly, while keeping her posture demure, "you have all the diplomatic charm of your average rock." Noting Zuko's look of consternation, she added, "A charming rock, I'll grant you."

"But he's three years old." Zuko ground out, "There has to be a better solution than this."

"Other solutions, yes," she noted lightly. "You could always send the ambassador away, banish him, or arrest him – anything you like, really. You are the Fire Lord. However then the rumors will be that you _unjustly_ took actions against this _poor_ Earth Kingdom ambassador who was so _gravely_ insulted; and furthermore you did it to _selfishly_ protect your own grandson. But are those better solutions? No."

Zuko groaned, but he didn't contradict his wife. She smiled and continued on.

"However, you can avoid all of that and put Guran in his place by simply allowing me to teach Iroh how to give a proper formal apology." She concluded with a pointed smile.

"I am failing to see how this will work." Zuko prompted, waving a hand in the air.

Mai shrugged. "Earth Kingdom apologies are short and to the point, designed to flatter the person demanding an apology. Recent politics have adapted this ceremony simply because it's short and to the point. But a proper Fire Nation apology, by the old codes…"

"It's practically a ceremony. A painfully long one at that." The Fire Lord winced. "What good will that do beyond embarrassing Iroh?"

Mai shook her head. For such a brilliant man, Zuko could be so dense when it came to social interaction. "One - by old law, merely offering a formal apology fully restores the honor of the party apologizing. Two – how embarrassing do you think it is to endure a formal ceremony enacted by a three year old? I'll be shocked if Guran doesn't call it off within the first minute – and in doing so he will admit to his own over-reaction in this whole stupid affair."

Zuko looked neither convinced nor pleased with the plan, but he grudgingly gave a nod of acceptance. "You can teach him?"

"Trust me."

xXx

Mai smiled viciously as she took her seat beside the Fire Lord in the audience chamber. Guran stood waiting, all puffed up and red faced with impatience. "Will this insult be ignored?"

"It most certainly will not." Zuko kept his tone admirably calm. "My grandson is prepared to give you a formal apology." He indulged in a quick look at Mai, her expression confirming that preparations had gone well.

"Well?" Guran set his hands on his hips, his feet shuffling. Behind him his entire entourage watched the assembled court for any sign of deceit. Tension hung thickly in the air for several long, silent seconds.

A gong sounded and servants slowly opened the side double doors to reveal the child standing in long white robes that were clearly quite large on him. Still, the boy walked forward with the upright grace of a member of the royal family and stared upwards at Guran. The Ambassador's jaw dropped fractionally. Mai noticed he was fidgeting.

Mai leaned over, murmuring to her husband "They don't make many ceremonial robes in toddler sizes."

"I hope we don't have to start stocking them." He muttered back darkly. The gong sounded again and the chamber went silent.

Iroh fixed his gaze upon Guran, his eyes full of heartfelt sincerity held by one so young they didn't know any better. "Am.." He took a breath, forming the words slowly. "Am…bassador Guran…" His voice was soft and held the faint lisp of a child still perfecting their speech. "As the sun is in the sky…" another pause, remembering the words he practiced for so long.

Guran knit his brows together, wondering where this was all going.

"We ask Agni for … our… bwessing… blwessing…" with his hands clasped behind his back he swayed nervously in place. His gaze drifted around the room while he struggled for the correct word.

"I get it, move on!" Guran barked. The tiny face looking back at him flinched and Guran felt his cheeks burn red.

"To-onor this apowoge." Iroh took in a breath and corrected very carefully, "A-powl-o-gee"

Guran could feel his own aides staring at him, and as he looked around he realized the whole court was staring at him. No one was paying attention to the child anymore; all the glares of ill-concealed unease were all focused directly on him.

"…ask for con-cords…" Iroh blazed ahead reciting what he remembered.

"Accords." Mai corrected gently.

"A-cords." The child corrected again, wide eyes still fixed upon the Ambassador. "To this most gree-vee-un-us… gree-vee…"

"Grievous!" Guran snapped again, wishing this whole horrible ceremony would end.

The child flinched again, and Guran could feel the heat in the room rising. Wide gold eyes full of innocence and earnest effort stared back at Guran, fighting fear to get the next memorized line out. "Of mis-takes." Iroh took in a breath, launching forward once again, "I heer-by off-fur most sin- uh… sin… seer? Sincere…"

"Just stop it!" Guran roared, unable to take the spectacle any longer. "Stop! In the name of the spirits, please stop!"

Iroh took a step back; hunching his shoulders up, afraid of the shouting man in fancy clothing. "But… I wasn't done…" he breathed with a wavering voice.

Ambassador Guran sputtered, turning from pink to crimson.

Zuko rose from his seat. "Ambassador?" he asked, as if trying to figure out what was wrong.

"I drop the issue. It's done. I don't need an apology, just let the kid stop." Guran threw his hands in the air and then slowly turned towards Fire Lord Zuko. "_Please_… make the kid stop."

Zuko carefully hid any hint of a smile as he sat back down and turned towards his grandson. "Iroh, you may go."

Iroh looked around the room, almost ready to protest again that he had not yet finished when he caught his grandmother's smile, that tiny look of praise that said he had done well. He dipped his head down. "Yes, Grandfather" and scurried back out the way he came.

As the double doors shut again, Guran took in a deep breath, his face still red as ever. Zuko turned towards him with a placid gesture, "Ambassador, perhaps we can discuss the tariffs on copper exports instead?"

"Yes, of course." The Ambassador replied meekly. Mai noticed that he didn't have his chest puffed out anymore, something which held true during the rest of the conference. She indulged in a smile to congratulate herself on the outcome.

xXx

That evening as the court dispersed Mai headed out to the garden and scooped up her youngest grandson in a rare display of open affection. "You did well, Iroh."

He beamed at the unexpected praised and curled up close to his grandmother as the sound of heavy footsteps came down the walk. Zuko's face curled into an indulgent smile for several seconds before he donned a stern expression. "Now, can you teach him how to not insult Earth Kingdom ambassadors?"

Iroh instinctively shied away from the soft rebuke, his eyes looking apologetically downwards until Mai tousled the boy's hair and smiled lightly at her husband. "We'll work on that next."

This time he smiled broadly, walking alongside them both. "Good. That will be better than practicing apologies."

xXx

_A/N: From experience with my niece, three year olds are enamored with memorizing and reciting things. Even if they have no clue what they mean…_


	5. Lost

xXx

4

**Lost**

xXx

Open doors were funny things.

Iroh knew that closed doors were off limits and locked doors certainly meant don't mess with it. His parents and grandparents were swift to instill in him respect for the rules of the palace.

But open doors? That seemed like an invitation.

Some doors led to council rooms, or the audience chamber. Some led to the war room or the library rooms where the musty scrolls of histories were stacked. Some led to private chambers or sitting rooms, rooms where his mother wrote letters or his father studied maps of the heavens and rooms where grandmother and grandfather talked about far off places and names that made no sense. But the most enticing of all, the ones that stirred the imagination of a young boy were the doors that might lead to hidden passageways.

Iroh knew from listening to the stories of his brother and family that there were secret passages in the palace. Many of them. Some were well used, some were old. Some hid secrets that had not been uncovered for centuries, and some saved the lives of those fleeing from assassinations or treachery. Iroh didn't quite understand what all those words meant, but he had formed in his mind an amazing maze of fire-lit passages that held adventure and treasure, and whispers of the past.

And he was curious. Terribly curious. Painfully curious. But all the doors that led to the secret passages were closed and locked, and Iroh knew the rules. You didn't mess with a locked door.

But this one was open.

Iroh hesitated a bit, lingering at the edge of the hall where a panel had swung open, revealing a gray torch lit passage beyond. He took a quick look around, noting his tutors were off in the garden catching some sun. They believed he was sleeping, and no one else was looking for him. Feeling the pull of freedom and exploration he turned his attention back to the door in the paneling.

Somewhere in the very back of his brain he could hear his father scolding him, and his mother reminding him that this wasn't a very good idea. Reaching out a hand he opened the panel wider, he caught a whiff of the dusty air and feeling the soft heat radiating out of the passage. He knew his brother Kuzon wouldn't go in; Kuzon never got into trouble. And maybe that was exactly why he wanted to explore. This was an adventure, after all. A real life secret passage.

And the door was open, which had to make it all right.

Without another thought he slipped inside and scampered down the stairs.

Wow! It was better than he hoped! Iroh's eyes glittered as he jumped off the stairs and found himself in a wide chamber of rock dotted with glittering minerals. Dozens of meditation candles rested on tables that ringed the room, reflecting a thousand times against the jewel-like facets of the walls. He might have stayed there, contented with this miraculous discovery, if had not heard footsteps and voices approaching.

In a flash of forethought, he snatched one of the meditation candles before he scurried off to hide behind a pillar of rock. He was used to carrying a candle to light his way – oh how he could not wait until he could bend fire like his brother – and he was used to shading it with his hand to preserve his hiding place. The voices sounded familiar as they approached – his father's brother Uncle Taldan and his brother's history teacher; but Iroh was not yet willing to give up his adventure. He huddled down and cupped the candle's flame, hiding until the footsteps and voices drew near and then passed by.

"This door is open…" the note of alarm cut through the passage.

"Perhaps someone forgot to latch it?"

Iroh could hear the strangled frustration in his uncle's voice. "That is a stupid oversight with children about the palace. When I find…"

The boy didn't stick around to listen to the rest of what Uncle had to say, he bolted from his hiding place while the adults were still at the top of the stairs and headed deeper into the tunnel.

xXx

Iroh did not want to admit it, but he was lost. Tunnel after torch lit tunnel was cut from the same dark stone, and all of them looked the same when you were only three feet tall. The adrenaline of escape and the novelty of adventure had worn off quite some time ago. Now he was hungry, tired and his feet were sore. Still he kept wandering and seeking the candlelit room where he had entered.

Up ahead the passageway widened and brightened enough to give Iroh a burst of hope. He ran forward, searching for a familiar room and stairway, only to stop dead at the threshold.

This room was neither familiar nor friendly looking. It was hot; steam was rising from a flow of lava that circled the edges. Ornate stairs led down from a small dais in the floor and another set led up along the edge with a dark alcove underneath. In the center of the room stood a tall stone statue of a dragon with dull metallic gold eyes that seemed to stare directly at Iroh as he took shelter in the doorway. A small pool of flame circled the dragon; flickering light cast over the stony scales made it look alive.

Iroh's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the crouched dragon's golden eyes. It looked like a guardian, as if it was protecting some vast inner sanctuary. It was compelling, and scary. He stepped forward very carefully, scarcely taking a breath. Light on the tip-toes of his feet, he crept halfway into the room when he felt the floor tiles shift slightly and heard a dreadful sound fill the room: the high pitched scraping of metal on stone followed by a deep gurgle. Iroh froze, staring in paranoia at the hulking guardian statue. A second later a thick wall of flame rolled out of its open maw and swept across the room heading directly for where he stood.

With a fearful gasp he dashed across the room just in front of the blast of flame that chased him and rolled under a small alcove that was tucked beneath a heavy stone staircase. Shaking as fire rained overhead, Iroh pulled his knees into his chest and struggled to keep from crying.

Slowly the heat faded, but the looming guardian remained. Its dull metallic eyes seemed to move, staring directly at Iroh's hiding spot. He peered around the edge of the alcove and the gurgling noise rose again, chasing the child back to his huddle. Several agonizingly slow minutes passed before he ventured out again, only to hear the same sound rise from the guardian. He snatched up the candle and tried to dash for the exit, only to be blocked by a second roaring wall of flame. He gave a sharp cry and retreated back under the alcove once again.

Shuddering and waiting for the heat to fade, the candle cast flickering shadows against the stone. He could now see careful carvings in them, covered in dust as if there was something down here that had not been touched for decades. Fear mingled with curiosity as he ran his hands along the wall with faint hope that he would find something to shut the guardian off.

In the darkened recesses of the corner his hand felt something yield. When he prodded it, it clicked into place much like a switch. Delighted at this possibility he turned towards the room to see if the terrifying flame-jetting statue still had its eyes upon him. He heard the scraping of stone against stone and braced himself for another burst of fire.

Which did very little to help defend himself against the floor sliding back behind him. Iroh felt his balance wobble and he looked behind his shoulder to see a long drop of steps. Pinwheeling his arms in the air he tried to grab onto something to prevent himself from falling. A second later he tumbled backwards with a sharp cry.

A gout of red fire chased him down the stairs, propelling him to his feet the second he could catch any sort of balance. Gasping for air, he rushed forward and tripped on a thin wire stretched across an arched door way. He heard a short snap and something moved.

A flare of pain bit into his shoulder, prompting a high pitched yelp as he flattened himself to the floor, stock still. There he waited until all fire except for the guttering candle faded, and the sounds of movement ground to a halt. Shaking, Iroh slowly rolled to one side and gave a startled whimper. Skewered across the door frame were a set of sharpened blades – blades that would have certainly torn anyone larger than a small child to ribbons. Iroh skittered backwards, away from the horrific trap and picked the candle up from the ground. The small flame flared as it was put right, and it cast a dim orange light across the chamber.

It was a tiny room that looked like some sort of records storage. An intricate gilded bas-relief spanned the back wall, surrounded by shelves on either side. Scroll cases were tucked up into the shelves, with a desk in front of the relief strewn with crumbling papers. Sitting at the desk was a charred corpse, its mouth still open in shock that was heightened by the massive black eye sockets.

He screamed. Pure terror escaped the boy's lips as he flattened himself against the far wall, tucking down into a quivering ball, his knees drawn so tightly against his chest that his lungs hurt. He screamed until he had no voice left and still his mouth hung open. He reached out and pulled the candle close to him, praying for it to not go out. Because if there was anything worse than having a blackened corpse staring at you, it was having the lights go out so you couldn't tell if it was _coming after_ you.

This time Iroh didn't have to try to keep the tears away. He was too terrified to cry.

xXx

In a mere half an hour things had gone from Fire Sage Taldan's annoyed warning about leaving passageway doors latched to an all-out search. Over an hour of searching later left the royal family wondering exactly how fast could Iroh move and how much trouble could the boy unwittingly find?

Mothers are said to have the sharpest senses possible when their children are in danger, and both Mother and Grandmother snapped their heads up as the faintest echoing of scraping stone echoed through the tunnels and catacombs. "You don't think…" Mai started, but the princess was already running.

She gasped as she came to the wide open chamber, smelling the smoke and the haze of fire. Calling Iroh's name she paused and called fire to her hands, sending it out in a radiating spiral on the floor. The guardian statue quieted obediently as she rushed forward searching in a blind panic. Forcing herself to calm down she called once more and listened.

"Mom…?" The voice was a tiny scared echo from somewhere … below.

"Where is he?" Mai asked scanning the room as a clump of the royal family converged. The princess had already started towards the steps, eyes picking out the faint outline of a stairwell hidden deep within an alcove.

"There!"

Uncle Taldan narrowed his eyes, "how in the spirit's name did he get down there?"

Firelord Zuko reached out, catching his daughter's shoulder just before she dashed down the steps. "This part of the catacombs held both secret passages and traps." Soundlessly he drew her back and stepped forward.

She bit her lower lip, desperate to find her child; but the look in her father's eyes was clear: she was just as precious to him as Iroh was to her. Finally she gave a nod of understanding and forced herself to walk down the steps following the Fire Lord. Zuko paused, reading the dusty inscriptions on the walls. He took a breath, held his hands out and forced fire into the ancient mechanisms, hearing creaking and cracking within the walls. A door opened ahead.

"…Mom?" Iroh had not moved one inch since he pressed himself against the back wall, staring up at the stairs with an expression of hope mingled with horror. As the Fire Lord cleared the way and stood aside, Mother paused for a second. Taking in the retreating blade trap, the tiny study, the shadowy form of the charred corpse in the corner and the spreading stain of blood on her young son's shoulder. She gasped and rushed forward, not stopping until she had the boy in her arms, cradled tightly. She couldn't tell if whose heart was beating faster, hers or his.

There was a quiet commotion at the top of the stairs as mother and child emerged. Mai leapt in to draw her daughter and grandson to the side while the fire sages murmured at the entrance. The Fire Lord's voice came clearly from the bottom "Taldan, come down. There is a corpse down here."

A muffled gasp went through the assembled, as the sages shuffled downwards. Mother stayed put, gently rocking her son until finally the tears flowed freely.

xXx

For the Fire Nation, it was a day of discovery. The body of Fire Sage Li Zan, missing for one hundred and forty two years was finally laid to rest, confirming a century of whispered rumors that Fire Lord Sozin had murdered the sage for hiding away forbidden knowledge. The tiny room held a wealth of scrolls: histories, political journals and firebending techniques that were believed to be lost.

For the royal family it was a lesson on keeping things in order. It would be many years before anything was left unlatched or unlocked without a double or triple check.

But for Iroh it was a solid lesson. No matter how tantalizing open doors are, they are every bit as dangerous as they are enticing.

He vowed that night as he finally fell asleep, safe and sound in his bed, that he would never, ever dip into that temptation again.

Well, at least not until he was older.

xXx

_A/N: First off, most awesome thanks to xTune for being an amazing beta reader! _

_This bit of 'trouble' started when I saw Zuko creeping around the Dragonbone catacombs in "The Avatar and the Firelord"- it reminded me of an Indiana Jones style set up with secret stairs, tunnels and doors opened by firebending. I got to thinking 'what else might be hidden down there…'_


	6. Cousin

xXx

5

**Cousin**

xXx

Cousin Deia was bad news.

The granddaughter of great-uncle Tom Tom, Deia was privileged, rich, spoiled and whiny. She got her way. She always got her way. And when she didn't get her way she threw a temper tantrum about it. Then her parents let up and gave her what she wanted just to keep her quiet.

And she was two weeks older than Iroh.

To the adults this seemed to mean something profound, as if a similarity in age meant that the two children were destined to become soulmates. Or at least playmates. Except Deia always wanted her way, and Iroh was too stubborn to let her get away with it. So by the tender age of five, Iroh already knew that the sound of Deia screaming made his teeth curl.

He had told his mother, in the clearest way possible that he would much rather stay with Kuzon and the older cousins. He promised that he could sit still and remain quiet. But no, someone needed to play with Deia. And that someone would be Iroh.

He folded his arms across his chest in the best princely pout he could manage and stalked off down the hall away from his mother. She hid her chuckle until he was out of earshot.

xXx

Maybe if he was lucky cousin Deia would be sick or she wouldn't want to play with him. Maybe she'd actually be quiet. Maybe they would be able to go exploring or do something else fun.

Iroh was _never_ that lucky.

"You're late." Deia put her hands on her hips, tossing her dark hair from her face in a haughty manner.

He shrugged a little, ignoring her taunt and heading towards the door.

"Did you hear me?" She started to chase after him. "Stop ignoring me!"

"I came as soon as I was told" he shrugged again and stepped out into the yard, stretching his arms out to the warm rays of the late afternoon sun. The stickiness of the palace air faded into a perfect summer day as a light breeze rippled through the grass. Despite the growing whine at his back, the young prince smiled.

"Fine." She huffed, shoulder-checking him out of his reverie. "Let's go see the gardens."

His shoulders sagged as he moved forward to follow her. "The gardens are closed. That's where all the adults are having dinner."

"So?" she shrugged. "We should be able to look around a little. Only a clumsy oaf would mess things up."

Catching up with her, he locked her gaze and tried to sound as diplomatic as possible. "We shouldn't go in there. The fence will be locked, and going over the trees is dangerous." He paused and added hopefully, "we could go down to the pond instead."

"The pond is stupid. We could climb the trees, easy." she folded her arms across her chest.

He stopped, shaking his head a little. Even if Deia could climb better than he could (something he seriously doubted) the fancy visiting dress she was wearing would make it impossible. "I don't think you'd make it over. We should just leave the garden alone."

"Why should I listen to you? You're only a second-born prince, and you can't even firebend." The icy tone carried as much venom as the child could muster, clearly tinting the words 'second-born' as _second-rate_. She put her hands on her hips, thrusting her chest forward to make herself look bigger.

"You're not a firebender, either" he returned with equal sass.

"My Mom's a chi-blocker, dumbhead, and my dad's a swordsman. I'm not _supposed_ to firebend. You? You're just a dud."

Iroh frowned, biting his bottom lip. Deia was too self absorbed and prone to tantrums to achieve true subtlety, but she knew how to verbally sucker punch Iroh and make it hurt. "I'm not. There's plenty of time to still learn firebending" he started, but his voice had lost the sharpness it had a moment ago.

She smirked, sensing the upper hand. "Sure, if you're a peasant. Your brother was on all his basic forms by now. You're behind. Everybody talks about it."

He opened his mouth to protest and stopped. His cousin was bossy, but not especially smart. Certainly not smart enough to make up such a precise lie. She, like her mother, raised gossip to an art form and always kept the choicest bits on hand to stab someone else in the back with. Iroh had a creeping suspicion that others talked about his slow firebending start behind his back, but his own family was very careful to never mention it.

"Whatsamatter? Owlcat got your tongue?"

He closed his gold eyes to slits and stared at her until he resembled a baby dragon waiting to strike. "Even if I'm never a firebender, I'll never be a whiny brat like you."

The look on her face was worth it. She pursed her lips like a fish gasping for air and sputtered "You… you… meany! You're stupid! And mean! And I'm going to tell on you!"

Folding his arms across his chest as if he simply couldn't care less, Iroh thrust his chin in the air. "Go ahead, go tell on me." He paused just long enough before he delivered the killing blow. "You baby."

"I am NOT a BABY!" She screamed and then gritted her teeth so loudly that Iroh thought they might break out of her head. With a squealing burst of fury, Deia rushed forward. With speed behind her slight body weight she shoved her cousin up against a courtyard tree, scratching and hissing at him like an enraged cat.

He had a size advantage on her, and after the surprise of the affront faded, Iroh snatched her wrists and pushed her slowly away. Swiftly losing her advantage and her temper, the young girl let out a blood-curdling shriek. It set Iroh's ears ringing and brought out their two stern nannies running.

The two ladies forcibly separated the two children. The younger nanny scooped Deia up, and cradled the weeping child in her arms. The older nanny pulled Iroh towards the palace, scolding him the entire way. He threw his arms across his chest feeling a deep indignation sink in. Deia pushed him and now he got punished because she was a whiny brat? This was _exactly_ why the told Mother he didn't want to deal with her.

xXx

It was muggy inside; his tunic was stuck to the flesh on his back with a thin glue of sweat. Muggy but quiet. Blessedly quiet. The nannies had left him alone to stew while the tended his 'poor injured cousin.'

Iroh sat on the couch and swung his feet, feeling a wave of relaxation pass over him as his Deia's hysterics faded into the background.

He leaned his head back, draping his arms across the cushions and contemplated taking a nap. But his mind rebelled on him and he started wondering what his brother was up to. He longed to hear the stories his older cousins told of far off places and strange people. He wished his parents had listened to him this morning. He wished his babysitters had listened to him instead of Deia. He wished he was older and smarter and a great firebender, too, but it seemed that his wishes weren't going to come true this evening.

Hopping down from the couch he dragged his feet over to the window and flopped down, setting his head on his arms. One cheek pressed against the window frame, he listened to Deia whimper for sympathy about how unfair it was that Iroh had ruined their play. He rolled his eyes in response. How was she ever going to be a proper noble if she couldn't stop moaning about the slightest offense?

As the nannies fixed Deia's hair back into a tight braid, they headed inside and Iroh scurried back to his chair. He wished for a second that they wouldn't make him deal with Deia again.

No such luck.

"You need to apologize to your cousin." the older nanny stated firmly.

Eying the whole group from his spot on the chair, Iroh considered refusing. Technically he was a prince and he didn't have to do anything unless his parents or grandparents told him so. But he rarely exercised that right. His mother always said that he needed to take responsibility for his own actions, and respect what other people told him. He took it to heart, but a voice in his head still nagged him that this wasn't fair. _She_ should apologize to _him_. But if he suggested it they wouldn't believe him and it would just prompt another tantrum.

Grandfather always told him to pick his battles, and this seemed like a lose-lose situation. That and there was no way he would turn around and whine like Deia. So he sighed and cast his eyes downward. "I'm sorry, Deia."

She smirked at him for a second, burying her head into the arm of the nanny afterwards to hide the expression. They set her down on a sofa and told them both to stay put while they fetched some milk and tea to calm the nerves.

xXx

Less than ten seconds after the door closed Deia was up and across the room to crow her victory.

"Do you know why you're being punished?" She whispered while wiping crocodillo tears from her cheeks. When Iroh refused to answer she leaned in closed, her voice like acid. "Because you're a _monster_."

"I thought it was because you're a baby who couldn't keep her mouth shut." He muttered, feeling a tightness growing in his chest.

She smirked cruelly. "I'm serious. My grandfather told me that through Avatar Roku, the spirits cursed Sozin and all his descendants. Second-born are _always_ monsters." Her smile only widened when she was rewarded by a reaction.

Iroh snapped his head up, gold eyes narrowing at Deia. "That isn't true. Your grandfather is wrong."

"Is he?" She thrust her chin forward as smugness dripped from every word. "Can you prove it?"

He bit his lower lip so hard it hurt, wracking his brain. Azulon had a younger sibling who was killed in battle before Sozin died. The only records said he was a committed, bloodthirsty soldier. That wasn't encouraging, and the next generations were clearly even worse. His own mother was an only child. His shoulders shivered, even under the sticky heat.

"You can't, can you?" The bitter triumph hit his ears and stung. Deia put her arms over her chest and leaned back, enjoying her victory.

Taking in a long, shuddering breath Iroh glared at her. For a second he wished he could set her on fire with only a look. "You're wrong."

"Am I?" she challenged lightly.

He felt his throat constrict and go hot with shame as he realized that he had just played perfectly into her taunt. Hadn't he just wished he could bend fire? Wished he could set her on fire to make her leave him alone? The flush crept into his cheeks and chest as he closed his eyes to block out her taunting smile.

Sensing weakness, Deia went for the kill. "That's right; it's only a matter of time before you'll be the same as the rest of them. Another second-born _monster_."

He sunk into himself, drawing his knees to his chest. He folded his arms around his knees and buried his chin inside his elbows. "Go away, Deia."

She got to her feet, moving back to the couch she had been laying on. Pulling back the blankets, she couldn't resist one final blow. "Who's the baby, now?"

"GO AWAY!" Iroh sprang up so fast that Deia almost thought he was possessed. He threw his hands in the air to punctuate his words. She shrieked, falling back against the sofa.

And the door opened.

"What are you doing?" the first nanny yelled, almost dropping the tea service. The second set her basket down by the door and rushed in to stand between the children. On cue Deia pointed and sniffled, tears running down her face once again.

Iroh backed away from the adults, his teeth clenched. This time he didn't care. They weren't touching him and he wasn't apologizing. He went back and sat in the spot they wanted him to sit upon and turned away from the whole stupid debacle.

xXx

After the nannies brought them supper they took Deia out for a walk around the grounds. Iroh wouldn't join them. He climbed back on the chair and stubbornly refused to move. Two hours later he was still frozen in the same spot, huddled on the seat with his head resting upon his knees and staring blankly at the setting sun. He didn't even look over as the door opened.

A tall shadow appeared in the doorway. The nanny recapped the day and stressing how frightened his poor cousin had been. Iroh sighed. If it was Mother she would scold him lightly and carry him to bed. If it was Father he would scold him soundly and look disappointed. Neither of them seemed to understand in the least how difficult it was to be around Deia. So he kept focus on the window, watching as a corona of orange spread across the horizon and painted the night sky with a streak of warmth.

A hand touched his shoulder very gently. He cringed, waiting for the reprimand. But the touch stayed steady, reassuring. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" The voice was familiar, but unexpected. Iroh turned.

Of all the people in his family, his grandfather was both the most comforting and the most terrifying. Beyond his mother, he loved his grandfather best. He considered every moment he got to spend with him to be precious and wanted nothing more than to earn his grandfather's praise. Yet his grandfather's fury was legendary and Iroh held a very healthy respect for the Fire Lord - not only for his title. Grandpa Zuko was downright intimidating.

So he cast his eyes downwards and shook his head silently 'no.'

The hand didn't go away and the question came again, except this time is wasn't a question anymore. "Iroh, tell me what happened."

He didn't want to. He didn't want to whine or complain. He didn't want to confess how easily Deia angered him. He didn't want to admit that he seriously wondered if she was right. But here was Grandfather, waiting for an answer.

Once the words started they didn't stop, like a floodgate had been pulled back. How he didn't want to entertain Deia, how she teased his inability to firebend, pushed him and he was blamed and then finally taunted him into yelling at her. By the end of it his shoulders were shaking and he panted for air, the words tumbling out so fast he barely had time to breathe.

Zuko leaned back, absorbing the tale and slowly frowning. He could put most of it together, but pieces were missing. His grandson was not a liar, but he did know that the boy would leave out choice bits of information if not pressed for them. He fixed Iroh was a quiet gaze. "What did she say that made you so upset?"

A stubborn frown grew across the child's face and he looked away, only to be drawn back to meet his grandfather's calm eyes by the hand on his shoulder. Iroh bit his lower lip, his cheeks turning pink. When he spoke it was barely more than a whisper. "She said I was a monster. That all second born were monsters."

"What?" It wasn't disbelief, but outrage. Iroh shrunk away. The Fire Lord forced himself calm and drew the boy back. "Say that again."

Iroh shut his eyes, his head tipped downwards. "Her grandfather says the royal family was cursed and that all second born children become monsters."

Zuko's jaw set in controlled anger for a moment. _'I am having words with my brother-in-law' _ran through his head before he took a breath and focused on the matter at hand. Iroh trembled and his eyes were wet with unshed tears. "Her grandfather is wrong."

"But what if…" he trailed off as his grandfather waved a finger between them commanding silence.

He fixed the child with a forcefully earnest gaze. "No curse, perceived or real, can outweigh what you _choose_ to do."

"I don't want to be a monster." Iroh's voice was tired and pleading. He leaned against his grandfather's arm and took in a shuddering breath. "She just didn't stop, no matter how many times I asked her to go away."

Drawing the child close to him, his voice softened. "Problems don't go away, Iroh. You have to face them."

"What if facing them makes you angry?"

Zuko was quiet for several seconds. '_What a good question that is,'_ he mused to himself. "Fire stokes anger. In itself it is not a bad thing, because it is tied to feelings of loyalty, passion and love. Like fire, anger is only a problem when it burns out of control."

Slowly Iroh's small frame relaxed and he sank into his grandfather's embrace. "What happens if you can't control it?"

"No one ever said you had to do everything alone." For a moment the Fire Lord chuckled inwardly at himself. Some of that wisdom came directly from his uncle. But it was tried and true.

Slowly the young prince smiled and hugged his grandfather tightly. It was most certainly the best thing he had heard all day.


	7. Topknot

xXx

6

**Topknot**

xXx

An orange tongue of flame licked across the sky, followed by a deafening roar. In seconds the peaceful flow of traffic melted into a screaming mass of chaos as explosions went off in succession like a row of dominoes coated in blasting jelly.

"There's bombs in the Satomobiles!" an anonymous face shouted an anonymous warning from the curbside just before the next one blew. A second later the sky grew grey as heat hazed over the city and fire rolled through the streets.

Mother and Grandfather were already on their feet, commanding the flame away from the vehicles backed up in the streets. Protecting both their immediate family as well as the mass of people huddled behind the firebenders for protection.

The flames didn't even reach the carriage, but a percussive blast threw it up against the shop stands on the opposite side of the street. The carriage rolled with a creaking of wood and a spray of destroyed produce. Outside everything else on the street fared little better as people, carts, stands and vehicles were tossed like leaves in a hurricane.

Inside Iroh heard Kuzon yell. Mother had sternly told them both to stay put as soon as the first explosion was heard, but the spirits would have none of it. The older boy moved to shield his younger brother, trying to anchor him down. Tossed like a rag doll, Iroh stretched his hand out, frantically trying to grab a hold of Kuzon's hand. Feeling his fingers slip through the tenuous grip, Iroh shrieked. A second later he was flying.

He tucked himself into a ball on instinct, hitting a canvas covered frame in the fall. The sounds of splitting wood and tearing fabric filled his ears as he threw his hands over his head. His side hit the ground with a sharp stab of pain and a flash of white across his vision. But he kept his body curled and his head tucked, a valuable instinct honed from too many attempts at climbing things that should not be climbed (and weathering the inevitable falls). When the initial pain faded, he uncurled his body and found himself bruised but unbroken.

It took a second for his tear filled eyes to focus, and another second to realize that the streets were saturated with smoke and ash which kept everything decidedly blurry. Another low rumble flared into a sharp report. The crack was accompanied by a stream of flame that broke through the thick haze. The crowd lurched, dozens of feet melting into a vast mob that fumbled blindly away from the fire and shrapnel.

Panic rose in Iroh's chest. Staying put was no longer an option if he was going to avoid being trampled. With a small, desperate prayer to Angi, he ran with the crowd pushing against the dark walls of legs and bodies that threatened to crush him.

He lost track of time, concentrating on just keeping up with the surge. He pushed his legs so hard they burned with exertion. Slowly he squeezed towards the outside of the mob. The throng continued shouting and pushing, angry words and frightened shrieks punctuating the din. Iroh gasped for air as he squirmed free, stumbling in a frightened daze. His heart was skipping faster than a racing rabiroo, and when he could finally see past the writing mass of bodies and glut of soot he realized that he was lost.

The air left his lungs in a frightened, pained gasp. Standing in a back alley, he felt hopelessly alone despite the mass of people he had just escaped. Everyone around him was in a blind, feral panic. Rather than people, he felt as if he was surrounded by an alien mass of limbs that might grab him at any moment.

Seeing no way out, he dashed into the darkness of the back alleyways. Sticking to the shadows, he kept hoping to find a familiar landmark. But with every turn he was feeling more hopelessly disoriented.

Lost. One of the few things he seemed to be truly good at. Every one of these back alleyways seemed to be a part of a maze hewn of identical architecture. Only the growing smell of salt in the air told him that he was moving at all. He dismally approached each new turn, expecting it to be just as disappointing as the last.

However this one was worse.

Back alleys opened up into the loading area for the docks. Most people seemed to have cleared to check on the noises from the explosions, leaving a small group of seedy sailors milled around some crates. The smell of rum and tobacco hung around them as they cast dice. Iroh was about to slink back when one of them looked up and fixed his eyes upon the boy.

A sickly shiver crept up Iroh's spine. None of these people looked panicked in the least, despite the confused din and rancid smog still hanging in the air. What had father said, about people who gained from the misery of others? Like the bone-robbers of the Hundred Years War, these men looked like they were standing by, just ready to turn a profit. He backed away cautiously, expecting trouble.

"I bet you'll fetch a pretty price, boy."

Iroh didn't need any more encouragement to move. Pushing away from the wall, he turned and darted back into the darkened alleyway. Or he would have, had he not run square into a man as solid as a brick wall. Thick, ropy fingers crushed against his wrists and dragged him back into the light. An overwhelming smell of alcohol and the tonic sailors take for goiter washed over him as the big man spoke. "Well groomed. Gold eyes. Fancy. Bet he'll ransom for quite a pretty price."

"Or we could sell him to that Earth Kingdom noble. He _loves_ little boys." The thinnest, greasiest sailor called in a voice filled with wheezy, dark delight. "Especially _exotic_ ones."

The sailors indulged in a round of coarse laughter and raised their glasses to their unexpected profit. His own captor let go of one arm, reaching over to grab a glass of rum as it was passed to him. Steeling his nerve, Iroh leaned into the rough grasp, waiting for the moment that the burly sailor dropped his guard. He felt the grip on his wrist loosen and took his chance.

Leaning backwards, he twisted his arm and tugged his wrist free between the thumb and fingers of his attacker's hand. With a stumble-step to catch his balance, he wasted no time in putting distance between himself and his would-be captor.

The sailor swore, spitting out his drink and yelling towards the streets "catch that little shit!"

He might not have good luck, but Iroh was no fool. He wasn't about to take the time to look over his shoulder. He set his head down and bee-lined back towards the commotion of the crowd. Even the faceless mass of limbs was preferable to the whims of slavers. He was about to turn away from the docks when a broad shouldered shadow blocked his path. Spirits have mercy; Iroh prayed it was a friendly face. But the swarthy complexion and permanently curled lip that stared back at him were completely unknown, and the eyes that crowned them radiated hostility.

Iroh screamed and skidded to a halt, turning sideways to skirt between the two adults. But no matter how fast his little legs moved, they were faster. A rough hand clenched down on his shoulder and jerked him around, driving him straight towards the man with the curled lip.

The fingers closed around his throat and tightened until lightening flashes of pain streaked across his vision. Iroh gasped. Curled Lip's rough whisper grated into his ear. "Scream again, boy, and I'll cut your tongue out."

To emphasize his point he dragged his fingers up and squeezed in the tender area just beneath the jaw, feeling the boy struggle to swallow. As the child's cheeks went red with exertion he released his grip and drew his hand back. Before the kid could open his mouth, Curled Lip backhanded him across the face. "Now, you stay still and be a good kid, or else."

Iroh's face snapped to one side, stinging. As he turned back, he felt a primal anger rise up, past the fear that threatened to paralyze him. His gold eyes burned in miniature pools of fury, as he wished – prayed – to Agni that he could firebend the smile off his captor's face.

The sailor behind him latched on to his upper arms and dragged him back towards the ship. Iroh forced himself calm, teeth clenched to show a brave face. He concentrated on his inner anger to stave away the tears and the burning ache of bruises.

The men were still busy packing the ship. It gave him a little time to think. By now he knew someone would be out looking for him, but he would need to get far enough away from Curled Lip to raise an alarm. Huddled on a bench with the smelly sailor's hand still pressing down on his shoulder, Iroh made himself look small and unassuming, waiting for his chance to run.

xXx

The din was dying when the slave traders decided to pack it in. Iroh was already feeling exhaustion and ache settle into his limbs from being forced to sit still. The longer he sat, the less he wanted to move. That settled his decision in his mind – he was escaping as soon as the opportunity presented itself. When his guard stood and barked at him to get on his feet, Iroh decided to take the opening.

He stood and took a step backwards, just enough to get a little room to maneuver. As the slave trader reached out to grab him, Iroh took page out of Deia's book and stole a move he watched her use multiple times on her overbearing nannies. He kept edging back, forcing the bigger man to step forward. He was playing a game of chicken, taunting the sailor to catch him before he could bolt. Then, just before the man could get a grip on his arms, Iroh stomped his foot down onto the tip of the sailor's toes.

As the man recoiled in pain, the young boy bolted away from the docks like a streak. Spitting and swearing, the slaver gestured wildly towards the back alleys, prompting Curled Lip to break off and give chase. Several other lanky sailors followed after him for back up.

Iroh's breath burned in his lungs as he pressed forward with a panicked urgency. While he had the benefit of youth, his pursuers certainly had the benefit of size. He could hear their footfalls growing close behind him.

Curled Lip reached out, his fingers clenching the first thing he could snatch – the thin phoenix tail trailing behind the fleeing child. Iroh's head snapped backwards like a whip and his body strained at the sudden stop.

"I can see that threats mean nothing to you, without some proof that I meant what I said. I _will_ teach you manners, child." The slaver trader's voice was dark and cruel. He plucked a dagger from his belt and pulled the boy's head backwards.

A bitter cry escaped Iroh's lips as his eyes turned to the sky, his throat bared to his attacker. Terror surged in him, only to be drowned out by a rush of white hot determination. Curled Lip's visage blurred in his vision, as if there was a shimmering wall of heat between them. Iroh's heart felt as if it was going to explode in his chest as a burning sensation entered his blood.

Before the slave trader could draw him closer, Iroh's hands flew up to grab the base of his ponytail. He had meant to steady his head, to stop the pain from the sharp pull. But as he moved, two tiny contrails of fire streamed from his hands.

The next thing he knew his head was on fire.

Panicked as that made him, he was equally satisfied with the yelp of surprise that came from his captor. There was a soft 'snap' and the pressure that held him captive was gone. Iroh lurched forward and spun his arms to get his balance. The fire in his hands out, he beat the remaining flames from his head into smoke before he took off running once again. As he gained a little distance from his attackers his mind was racing. Had he finally bent fire? He should be elated, but he was aching and scared and tired. Worse, it seemed his very first firebending accomplishment was to sever one of the things that marked him a part of the royal family. Confusion threatened to break his concentration on escape and he prayed that there would be a friendly face around the next turn.

The spirits gave him more than he bargained for as he turned to come face to face with none other than his grandfather.

xXx

Curled Lip turned the corner at a full run, so focused on reclaiming his prize that he barely noticed the contingent of guards at the other end of the street. Only when the child stopped and looked up did he bother to look up as well.

He stopped so fast he felt his joints creak. His limbs formed bent and odd angles as they tried to freeze and switch directions in an instant. Terror sank straight into his body like a sick chill. City guards he could handle. But that face with the flame crown atop silver grey hair, gold eyes narrowed into a piercing draconic gaze that was only heightened by the ages-old scar, it made the slave trade's heart palpitate until his entire chest burned.

Worse, the Fire Lord himself drew the child behind him like a moose-lion protected its cub. Curled Lip tried to warn his crew off, but he couldn't take in enough breath to speak. They gathered up behind him, jerking to a panicked stop as they realized what they were facing.

Curled Lip raised his hands in a protective stance, the dagger catching a glint of sunlight as it dropped to the ground. Zuko's eyes flickered between the weapon and the wielder once, as anger sank deeply into his eyes. Wordlessly he struck out, and the slave trader was forced to his knees, pressed down and consumed by a jet of bright orange flame. It took every ounce of willpower the Fire Lord possessed not to burn the man to ashes where he stood.

The following fight was over before it began. With a few flicks of the old firebender's hands and an accompanying rush of breath, a roaring wall of fire blocked off the end of the alleyway to prevent escape. Another twist of his wrists and a push of chi saw each slave trader trapped in a small cage of bright orange flames. Men who were full of swagger minutes ago on the docks, fell to their knees and cringed at the flames bearing down upon them.

Zuko clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe. He pulled back the flames just before they started to melt flesh and char hair. Reminding himself that in this modern world of peace and prosperity he must let the authorities handle these criminals. Must abide by the laws he himself helped create. This was no time for personal retribution, and the guards had it well under control. He turned, letting his anger ebb and concern to flow in its place.

Iroh stood stock still; he might have been a statue if he wasn't trembling. His grandfather knelt down, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Are you badly hurt?" His voice softened into deep, worried fondness.

The boy raised his chin slightly, shaking his head 'no' and Zuko saw the purple and red finger-mark bruises streaked across Iroh's throat. Drawing the child closer, he gently drew Iroh's chin upwards, inspecting the bruises darkening across his cheek and shoulders. The next breath the Fire Lord drew in was searing hot. Anger re-surged in his chest. His arms twitched, the urge to tear the slave traders returning in full force. For a second he turned. The leader of the group was still writhing on the ground with pain. Zuko fixed him with a stare that could melt glass, sending a clear message in the tense silence: '_Touch my family and I will rip you limb from limb_.'

Satisfied with the look of terror frozen into the dirty sailor's eyes, he turned back to Iroh. The boy was staring at his outstretched hands as if he had never seen them before. He looked up, fixing his grandfather with a look of shame mingled with fear. "I'm sorry" he whispered.

The Fire Lord furrowed his brow in confusion rather than anger, drawing the child closer. "Why?"

In response Iroh simply let his head sink down, his frayed and charred hair visible even in the back alley shadows. Zuko reached over and ran a hand over the blackened fringe. "Come here."

Iroh tensed. He wasn't even sure why, for his grandfather had never hurt him. But he knew the stories of how honor was interconnected to every aspect of life in the fire nation; from overarching actions to how one wore their hair. His impressionable mind had been filled of tales of the past, the legacy that Sozin sowed and Zuko atoned for. The betrayals and struggles of his line even the teachings of his namesake. Despite the care his family took in softening their own history and how it was presented to their children, everything seemed to sit uneasily on the shoulders of one young boy. Iroh frequently felt he was walking on a tightrope through the overwhelming expectations of his birth. Except the tightrope was greased and he kept falling off. His shoulders slumped. This was one more perceived failure.

The Fire Lord drew the boy's chin up, gazing at him with a quiet understanding. "I would say for your first time bending fire, you were quite resourceful."

"Father will be angry" he looked at the ground, muttering the words.

Fighting off the urge to swear, Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. Sazan was rarely angry in the way Ozai or Azulon had been angry. Simmering tempers or bouts of yelling to enforce dominance simply didn't happen. But Sazan had exacting standards and did not hide his disappointment well. It was one thing he shared in common with the Fire Lord – both were terrible liars. Zuko could clearly call to mind his son in law's voice, and his all-too-common criticisms. 'He's a bit slow.' 'We should mind how we present ourselves.' 'He's a mess.' The Fire Lord made a note of letting his son in law know that his grandson could see clearly through the words Sazan thought were crafted with kid gloves.

"Your father will be as glad to see you are alive and well as I am," he returned, firmly. Zuko didn't have to shade his words. He knew his family well enough to be certain they were true, no matter how badly Sazan expressed himself. That was, perhaps, another thing they shared in common.

"But…"

Before the thought could be finished, he wrapped the child in his arms and picked him up. Zuko didn't even bother arguing. Iroh was stubborn in a way neither his brother nor mother could hold a candle to. Stubborn in a way only his grandfather understood. Tremors rocked through the child's limbs, and Iroh took in a pained gasp. He held onto his grandfather's robes as if they were a lifeline, and buried his head into Zuko's shoulder.

He could feel the desperation shaking in the boy's arms, a slurry of emotions churning in his chest. In contrast the Fire Lord was still, like an anchor in a terrible storm. He focused on the boy, cradling him comfortably close. Everything else, from having words with Sazan and planning training in firebending to figuring out how they could fix his hair into something resembling a proper young prince could wait.

Slowly Iroh's small frame went limp in Zuko's arms as the Fire Lord listened to the boy's heartbeat go from panicked to calm. As the child sagged into a peaceful sleep, his grandfather indulged in a rare smile.

And somehow, somewhere in the spirit world, he _swore_ his uncle was smiling as well.

xXx

_A/N: This was actually the concept piece for the whole story. Sitting around, going 'hey, Iroh doesn't wear his hair in a topknot. Wonder why…'_

_I'm sure the answer is actually something boring like 'it's modern times, yo. Short hair is sexy. Topknots are _so_ last century.' However this made for a (hopefully) much more exciting story._


	8. Training

xXx

7

**Training**

xXx

This was not how it was supposed to be.

Iroh had imagined that once he started firebending, everything would be right as rain. He could catch up on what he had missed and show everyone what he could do. Soon he'd fulfill, perhaps even surpass everyone's expectations and become the prince he knew he could be.

He had never once considered the possibility that he would be terrible at firebending.

"Again." His father's voice was patient as he bid Iroh to drill the same set of basic stances for the fourth time. Painfully patient. The sort of patience born from frustration and acceptance.

Day in and day out he corrected the stances. He worked on the breathing and went through a focused meditation with his youngest son. He walked through the most basic forms and all the training exercises. To his credit, Iroh was an eager student. He wanted to learn and he threw every ounce of his energy into trying to follow his father's lead. But something just wasn't clicking and progress remained as slow as ever.

Time and time again Sazan told himself this was not Iroh's fault. That the boy would break through whatever barriers there were in his understanding and then things would simply roll along. But as every day crawled by, and every step of mastery was hard won, Sazan found himself wondering what was wrong with the boy. Or what was wrong with his teacher.

And that was the biggest frustration. Sazan had found teaching Kuzon to be blissfully easy. Kuzon shared his father's patience and serious demeanor. Kuzon took to the traditional forms that were favored by Sozin's style naturally, and he took up his father's training regimen with ease. Sazan has inwardly congratulated himself on a job well done every time Kuzon proved his mastery. This second time around Sazan was wondering what was wrong with what _he_ was doing as much as what Iroh was doing.

Kuzon had been an ideal student. Not a prodigy, but a solid achiever throughout his years. In a way, that made things even worse for his younger brother. If Kuzon had been the wonder of a generation, no one would have expected Iroh to match that. But Kuzon simply excelled within the bounds of possibility. It made Iroh's goal reachable, but humiliatingly high.

Iroh cared more. Sazan could see that in the way the boy threw himself into his training with an almost self-destructive obsession. Iroh trained longer and practiced harder. But Iroh fidgeted when he needed to stand still. He watched butterflies and birds flitting by when he was supposed to stare straight ahead. He ran when he needed to walk, and jumped when he needed to run. Then he apologized and tried again. And again. And again. If he was purposely disrespectful, Sazan could have been legitimately angry. Instead he was confused and frustrated and constantly searching for a way to get through to the boy without losing his temper.

Meditation had been the primary focus of Iroh's training for the past few weeks. Sazan could see true progress in the rhythmic pulsations of the tiny flickering candle flames, matching the boy's breath. It made him hopeful that they could build a foundation from those basic principles, enough to get Iroh at least caught up with his forms.

For Iroh meditation was painfully boring, but the little bits of praise he garnered from doing something – _anything_ – right was enough that he stuck to it with the tenacity of a moose-lion mother protecting her den. So while the family was busy entertaining important Water Tribe merchants and politicians, Iroh decided to try the newest meditation routine one more time.

Part of his mindset was stubbornness – he wanted to practice and get it right before Father tested him on it. Part of it was avoidance. Still too young to be a part of the adult's gathering, Iroh would be otherwise be holed up with all the other noble children too young to attend. Lately they had taken to playing stupid games where they dared one another to do embarrassing things, which usually meant everyone ganging up on one person. Iroh had a perfect target painted on his head for such things, especially since his cousin Deia found it funny to get him mad. 'I need to practice my firebending meditation' was a thinly veiled – but arguably honest - excuse to get out of spending time with his cousin. While meditation could seem tedious, at least it was relaxing. Time with Deia was certain misery.

Meditation it was. If he were lucky Deia and the rest of them would forget all about him.

Iroh was never lucky.

He heard the footsteps click down the hallway and groaned. Eyes stubbornly remaining closed, he tried to focus on his breathing. Maybe if he seemed boring enough she would keep on going.

The footsteps stopped. Iroh tensed. The candles around him jumped with his breath. The door creaked open.

"There you are. What are you doing? Praying the candles will take pity on you and teach you firebending beyond the loser levels?" if anything Deia's voice had grown more annoying in the past year.

Iroh's gold eyes flickered upwards. "Meditation is an important part of firebending, Deia."

"From what I heard, you don't really firebend. You just move around and make smoke."

Slowly Iroh frowned. His brain was screaming at him to not take her bait, but still the disappointed expression dawned across his features. "Mastery takes time…" he started with one of his father's proverbs.

She folded her arms across her chest and thrust her chin in the air. "With the rate you're going you'll firebend when you're forty." Leaning forward, she let a bitter grin unfold across her face. "Maybe if you're lucky you'll firebend _before_ your family disowns you."

"My family will not disown me." Anger started to color the young prince's voice, glaring at her from behind the curtain of candlelight.

"Think of it! You can get a job as a circus juggler or ooh! Maybe the person who lights lamps out on the street!" she grinned waiting to see how long it would take to get a reaction. "That is until they replace them with electric lamps"

The smugness exuding from her tiny frame was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. It bore down on Iroh's shoulders to the point where it looked like his entire body was sagging from the tension. A small quiver was visible in his arms and chest, straining to keep control and steadily failing.

"You don't know anything Deia, just shut up! _SHUT UP_!" He snapped his hand out at her as if to push her away and the candles obeyed. Without consciously commanding it, without even realizing it every single candle in the line up flared and rose up to his fingertips in a crackling ball of fire.

Deia shrieked and backpedaled as if she had been stuck with a needle. Startled, Iroh snapped his gaze up at her and completely lost focus on the rolling ball of fire in his hands.

There was a faint roar just before the fire blew out of control and the room was filled with a red-orange haze. Instinctively Iroh threw his hands up to cover, feeling the flame wrap around him as he lost his footing and tumbled backwards to the floor. On the opposite side of the room he heard Deia's melodramatic shriek turn to a true cry of pain as she hit the ground near the doorway.

He scrambled up to his feet, past the melted candles and knelt down beside her. His voice cracked with worry. "Deia! Are you ok? Deia?"

She raised her head and stared at him through mussed up hair, a well of tears forming in her dark amber eyes. "You! You're a _monster_." She hissed, leaning back to cradle a bright pink burn crossing her arm.

"I didn't mean…I'm sorry! I didn't know!" his brows knit, holding out a hand for her. He winced as she batted it away and recoiled.

"Of course you didn't know! You don't know anything!" Large fat tears were threatening to pour from her eyes as she wavered between giving into the pain she felt, and suppressing it by causing pain to someone else. Finally the burn won out and she backed fully into the hall to let out a piercing wail.

Iroh's eyes were wide and dry, stunned as he watched the spectacle. Servants rushed up, followed swiftly by Deia's parents and then his own. Half the household appeared to be awake and in the hall, but all Iroh could do was murmur his apology over and over.

xXx

Sazan was not impressed. His usual calm exterior was cracked by the screams coming from the hallway, and seriously fractured by the singed mess spread around his apologetic son. Anger flared deep within Sazan's chest. He wasn't even sure if he was angry at Iroh or angry at himself for failing to teach the boy the basic rules of control. In the moment both blurred together.

"What did you do?" the words were hot and biting, enough to snap the boy out of his feedback loop of endless apologies.

Iroh turned wide gold eyes upwards and stumbled on his own words. "I… I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

The child took a step back and froze in place. His father had always taught him that firebending came from within. He was never trained in how to reach out and take control of _already burning_ flames, nor had he realized how natural and easy it would be to grab them. His successive outburst of anger hadn't helped him control the flame or remember what went on clearly afterwards. He searched his memory but he was at a total loss for an explanation. He stared mutely back at his father.

"Answer me, Iroh." Sazan's voice was low and forced into the sort of quiet calm that belies a barely controlled temper.

"I don't know" he repeated barely above a whisper. He was trembling like the guttering candle flames.

Snapping like a flare, Sazan flew forward grabbing his son by the shoulders and shaking him coarsely. "You have to know! Stop making excuses!"

At a complete loss, the boy sagged helplessly against the arms that held him. Steeling his nerves he looked up and pleaded, "I'm sorry, father, please… forgive me…"

"Enough!" Sazan yelled, dropping the boy and pulling his hands back. Temper simmered in his body, enough to draw his muscles taut and he glared at the child, as if daring him to speak. The rational part of his brain was telling him to walk away, but the frustration of the past months had built up into the desire to beat sense into the child immediately, literally and figuratively. Sazan hovered indecisively between the two, until a new voice barked out his name.

If only that was his wife. Or someone else who could interject a calming influence into the situation. But he knew that voice, and feared it. "Fire Lord Zuko…" he started cautiously neutral.

"Get out here; we're having words, _now_."

The breath caught in Sazan's throat and he cast his eyes downward in the exact same expression Iroh has taken only moments ago. He walked dutifully into the hall.

The door slammed, the room was dark and Iroh was alone.

xXx

He sat down on the floor, head buried in his hands. No matter how much Iroh tried to make sense of the night, it all seemed a disorganized blur. Worse, all the familiar worries kept haunting his thoughts. Maybe he did deserve to be punished; after all he did burn his cousin. He hadn't meant to, but they always said that the road to the Face Stealer's lair was paved with good intentions.

Worse the hushed words of the two adults outside his door grew ever more fevered in pitch and intensity, until Iroh could hear them ringing through the air as cutting as if they were directly in front of him.

"Should you ever lift a hand against him again I swear to you I will have it cut off." Anger seethed through Zuko's voice.

"Who are you to tell me how to raise my son?"

"You do no favors for yourself or your family." Deep disappointment darkened the words.

"I never had to favor Iroh, you do that plenty well yourself!" Sazan bit back.

He could hear them arguing, each word punctuated with enough heat to send a shiver down Iroh's spine. Standing in the darkened room, he realized that he never felt so small.

Minutes crawled by, the argument outside growing in an endless cycle of hostility that ate at Iroh's mind until his entire body shook with guilt and shame. In one moment of clarity (some might call utter foolishness) Iroh decided he had enough. It was bad enough to be responsible for hurting his cousin, the perceived guilt of setting his father and grandfather at one another's throats was more than he could bear, no matter what the consequences.

Iroh could feel the heat radiating from the discussion outside. A deep, indignant desire to set things right rose up beyond the fear he felt and the deference for his elders that held him back. Neither his father nor grandfather noticed as he threw open the door, or stepped forward. Jaw clenched, his young voice pierced through the halls with a startling strength. "Stop it!"

Both adults jerked their gaze towards him and ground into silence. Iroh peered up at them with a defiant commitment in his eyes. "I burned her. I was angry and the candles flared and I burned her. I don't know how I did it, I didn't even know that I could do it, but I did it. I admit it. I'm sorry, and that doesn't make it right. I admit it, I take the consequences for it, I'm not afraid. Just please stop. Stop arguing about be or over me or protecting me."

Sazan stared; slack jawed at the audacity of his youngest son. Zuko on the other hand leaned back with an expression that Iroh couldn't quite read. It might have been quiet admiration or silent fury. Perhaps both. Well, if he was already in with both feet, Iroh decided he might as well keep going. He thrust his chin in the air. "I hate being the cause of this. So I'll fix it, but I don't know how."

"I don't think there's anything you can do." Sazan replied a bit too quickly for comfort. Red flushed through his cheeks, and he waited for a rebuke.

But the Firelord merely chuckled. "I think he already has."

The fire sage stopped his jaw dropping fractionally as he looked from his son to his father in law and back. He took in a breath and dropped his gaze towards the ground. "I am sorry. I have over reacted."

Satisfied, the Firelord merely nodded, taking a step back to allow father to address son without intervention.

"Iroh, you will apologize to your cousin in the morning. You will do so formally." He waited for the boy's nod of assent before continuing on. "I will teach you to control your firebending, and you will give these lessons with the utmost attention." Another pause, another nod. "You will also, as an act of contrition, offer to assist your cousin while she heals. You will swallow your pride and be cordial to her in her presence at all times. Do you understand?"

Iroh gave a solemn nod. "Yes, Father."

Sazan took a step forward and rested a hand on Iroh's shoulder. "I take partial responsibility for not teaching you all you needed to know. We will work on this."

He kept his face somber, but relief flooded Iroh's body as he repeated his assent and headed back into his room.

xXx

Sazan pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will teach him control. You will allow me that?"

"Certainly." Zuko gave the slightest nod. "But when he has mastered the basics, I will take over his training."

He was greeted by a look of skepticism. "Why would you do this?"

"Because I understand his struggle."

The reply was simply, but an admission Sazan was unprepared for. He had never known the firelord as anything but a pillar of strength. The younger man nodded, processing the figure before him, seeing something more than the legendary, intimidating silhouette he had come to fear more than understand. "I should not have spoken out in anger."

"No, you should not have." Zuko returned, without malice. "But I do not regret the outcome."

Sazan perked a brow, surprised for the second time in as many seconds. Much later in the evening he even had to admit that Iroh was much smarter than he gave the boy credit for. For now he simply offered a nod to bury the hatchet with his father in law, pleased when it was returned.

xXx

_A/N Every once in a while kids seem to have flashes of brilliant insight. It's kinda funny to watch parents and adults get owned by the innocent words of a child…_


	9. Butterflies

xXx

8

**Butterflies**

xXx

Ever since he had accidentally burned his cousin, his father set him to two hours of control drills before they even began firebending training. Two hours of meditation, breath control and simple repetitive exercises to drill into him how to command fire. If he made any mistakes or lost his temper during his lessons he would end his day with another hour of exercises.

His father was patient, and his father was never cruel, but Sazan was a strict taskmaster. No day passed where the simple exercises were shirked. Iroh had thought to complain, only once or twice. Each complaint earned an increased workload for the week and his father firmly reminded him that the time he spent on the meditation exercises was time that was taken away from actual firebending. Painfully aware that he was already considered far behind on the subject, he steeled himself to become a model student. Or as much of a model student as he could manage.

His mind wandered during the meditation, visualizing the last bit of history or tale he heard from his classes or his elders. He imagined seeing the sweeping sands of the Si Wong desert or the vast ice floes of the Southern Water Tribe. When controlling a spark of fire burning through a leaf he grew bored of trying to prevent it from reaching the edges and instead tried to coax it to burn in patterns or form pictures. When controlling a tiny bit of fire cupped in his hands he watched the flickering flames and worked to form them into the waving wings of birds or the flapping of butterflies.

His father bore through all of this with a thinly drawn patience. "Iroh, focus." "Iroh, please stop daydreaming." "Iroh, the point of the exercise is to prevent the fire from spreading not to draw a picture with it." He rarely became angry, but his frustration was always rippling just beneath the surface of his words. Frustration and disappointment.

The disappointment was the worst of all. And Iroh could read his father like a book.

While his mind was busy, it was also perceptive. Iroh quickly saw through his father's grim expressions and read the discontentment underneath. He quickly learned to hide the changes he made to the exercises to make them more interesting and enjoyable, trying to present the best, most focused face to his father whenever he was paying attention. It worked. Usually.

Sazan crossed his arms in front of his chest. "The point of the exercise is not to play with fire. You are to concentrate and bend the fire against the wind."

"I can bend it against the wind…" he protested and stopped himself. Raising his hands to emphasize his point, the tiny petals of flame were no longer hidden and they fluttered out on trails of smoke. Well, at least they had flown against the wind. Clamping his mouth shut, Iroh was still afraid the damage had already been done.

Frowning darkly his father spoke in a low, overly patient tone. "How many times must I tell you, fire is not a toy. If you concentrated on the exercise rather than pictures of animals or tales of far off places you would progress much faster."

Iroh knew better than to protest. Protesting just got him into trouble. He cast his gaze to the ground and quietly took in a breath. "I will do it again, Father."

Sazan shook his head. "Not today. You will complete the exercise tomorrow morning. You need to prepare for this evening, your grandfather is hosting guests from the other lands and he expects you to join Kuzon at the festivities."

Jaw dropping fractionally, the boy let this information settle in. After he had spoken out of turn at the last royal party, his father had told him in no uncertain terms that he would not be joining public events until he learned to present himself properly. "I did not know I would be attending."

"Your grandfather requested it." Sazan's voice was guarded, careful.

Iroh silently bit his tongue. He recognized that tone, no matter how hard his father tried to hide it. Father disagreed with Grandfather, and Father wasn't happy. But Grandfather held the power in the family both officially and unofficially. So whatever Grandfather wanted done was done. Slowly he raised his gaze to meet his father's eyes.

"I expect you to present yourself properly. I expect you to not speak out of turn and to show our honored guests the utmost respect. Do you understand?"

The boy gave his most polite, formal nod. "Yes, father, I understand."

xXx

"What are you doing on the roof?" Kuzon's voice was curious and slightly concerned.

Sounds of conversation and music drifted up from the dinner below, of tall tales and political arguments and greetings for old friends. It wafted up to the roof above the balcony like the smell of tarts you couldn't eat. Iroh picked his head up from where it was neatly planted on his knees and sighed. "Hoping no one would find me" he admitted.

Chewing his bottom lip, Kuzon took a tentative step forward. "Did you want me to leave?"

He mulled this over, wrapping his arms about his legs to fend off the chill in the night air and softly admitted, "no."

Considering that to be invitation enough, Kuzon settled himself beside his brother and slid over enough to sit shoulder to shoulder. "Any reason you're hiding up here?"

With a halfhearted shrug, Iroh stared solemnly out at the fading sunlight. Kuzon waited in silence and finally the younger boy waved towards the commotion inside and offered, "Big party. Lots of important people. Father told me I had to present myself well and not disappoint him."

"That shouldn't be so hard." The older boy reasoned. "It's mostly friends and family members. Just come down and say hello. You can't disappoint Father by greeting people."

"I always disappoint him! No matter what I do, I disappoint him!" the protest was soft but vehement and laced with an edge of bitter sadness. "If I can't be perfect, at least I can stay out of the way."

Kuzon's brows furrowed slowly together. "Iroh, we're both expected to attend. Grandfather is expecting us to make an appearance."

"Attend and make an appearance are not the same thing. You're expected to attend. I'm expected to show up long enough to smile and be seen and then disappear again." He crossed his arms across his chest. "I already showed up. Good enough."

"So you're going to spend the rest of the night up here. On the roof?"

Iroh shrugged lightly. "Why not? It's quiet."

The elder brother waited a few good long seconds as silence hung in the air before he drew in a slow breath. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." The younger replied with enough stubbornness to move a mountain.

Kuzon sighed, carefully picking his way down. Just before he jumped to the balcony below, he fixed his brother with one last glance. "It's awfully chilly, you sure you're staying up here?"

"Don't worry." He lit a tiny flame and let it dance gracefully across his fingertips. "I'll be warm enough."

xXx

If one concentrated hard enough, Iroh found, a tiny wisp of flame could be molded into coarse shapes. He has first amused himself by making the flame lean in one direction or another. Forcing the fire to flatten like a petal or split into to points. As he trained with his father, he moved his downtime toying to more creative outlets. Once he could split the flame, he tried to shape it into the form of wings beating in a tiny, clumsy, flickering flight.

Butterflies were easier than birds. Butterflies just beat their wings back and forth, while birds wings bent and rippled as they flew. With over a year of clandestine practice his birds still left something to be desired, but his butterflies were quite good. And so he leaned his head on one hand, calling up a tiny flame with the other. Molding it into the form of a butterfly and sending the little wisp of flame onto the evening breeze. Absorbed in his task, he tried to get each one to burn a little longer and fly a little farther than the last.

"Look, gran-gran, a butterfly!" the light voice of a young girl broke Iroh from his reverie.

He snatched the little wisps of flame back into his hands and extinguished them, sitting very still on the roof just above the speaker. One last, lone flickering butterfly of fire drifted past the balcony. A second voice, much older but with the same unusual accent, spoke up. "Don't be silly Kanna, you can't see butterflies at night. Come back inside where it's warm."

"I'm not being silly. It's right there." An overeager pudgy finger thrust towards the sky where the butterfly broke apart with a tiny puff of smoke. "Awww, it's gone now."

The older lady's eyes narrowed, gazing out to where her granddaughter had pointed.

"It was there, gran-gran, I swear it was." The girl stubbornly clung to her grandmother's leg, still staring to the fading smoke.

"I know, child. I saw it, too." She petted the girl's hair and gave her a gentle push. "Go find your sister. I will be in with you shortly."

As the girl trotted off, the grey-haired lady turned and cast keen blue eyes towards the roof, searching in the twilight shadows for a likely culprit. Iroh bit his lower lip. She looked as old as his grandmother. Maybe older. Maybe she couldn't see very well. Maybe if he was very still. Maybe she wouldn't spot him.

"Isn't it a bit dangerous for a young child to be up on a roof?" the lady started in a distinctly parental tone. Busted.

Iroh crossed his hands over his chest. "It's my roof and I can be on it if I like." He tried for a tone that was 'commanding' but ended up sounding petulant. Still it gave the older lady pause.

She furrowed her brow and glanced back towards the gathering. No, her mind was not playing tricks on her; she could see the Firelord speaking with her eldest son. Slowly she turned back to the darkened roof. "And who are you that you claim this roof?"

Well, this wasn't working the way he had planned. He wanted this lady to leave, not keep questioning him. "Who is asking?"

She put her hands on her hips and drew herself to her full height. For a lady easily the age of his grandmother it might have looked funny, but somehow this woman radiated confidence. "I am Master Katara, waterbender of the Southern Water tribe, wife to Avatar Aang and honored guest to the Fire Nation." She paused and smirked. "Your turn."

Groaning inwardly, Iroh closed his eyes for a second. He had come out here to stay out of trouble and here was Katara. _Master_ Katara… _the_ Master Katara standing on a balcony and ready to call him out for being a stupid child on a roof. Maybe if he was very quiet…

"I'm waiting." She chided lightly.

Frowning in the darkness he leaned forward fractionally and offered "I'm Iroh."

A faint smile played at the waterbender's weather-beaten lips. "Just Iroh? Not anything else?"

The child sighed. His father had expressly commanded him to show the utmost of respect to any guests at the gathering. At the moment he was at a loss of how to exit this situation gracefully. He slid over to where the roof dipped down towards the balcony and made the easy jump before turning into the light towards the older woman. In his best formal tone he offered, "Iroh, second prince of the Fire Nation, son to Princess Ursa and Fire Sage Sazan." He ended with a bow befitting respect to one's elders.

Katara's jaw dropped fractionally. Popular rumor held that Zuko's second grandson held a strong resemblance to the firelord. She mused that rumor was quite an understatement. He looked like he stepped directly out of the paintings she had seen on Ember Island. Resettling her best motherly expression on her features she eyed the child. "Well, Prince Iroh, what so ever are you doing on a roof?"

He fixed her with a canny gaze. "Staying out of trouble. Pretty badly I guess." The words were punctuated by a very faint apologetic smile.

Suppressing a rising urge to giggle, the master waterbender leaned back against the railing. "And why would a young man like you be in trouble?"

Biting his bottom lip he raised his gaze fractionally to meet her eyes, wondering if the somewhat reserved expression was hiding mirth or anger. Completely unsure of his ability to talk his way out of the situation he settled for answering her question as directly as possible. "Speaking out of turn, saying the wrong things… getting caught on a roof by a master waterbender." Plain innocence poured from his wide gold eyes.

"I suppose that might be an issue." She rocked back and forth, considering.

Iroh stood stock still, like a man ready to hear judgment. Half terrified and half committed to keeping his formal stance, the child reminded Katara exactly of the first time she had to dress Bumi up in formal clothes for a fancy gathering. Kya had done all right, enjoying playing the part of the 'pretty princess' in her dress; but Bumi had spent the majority of the night standing like a statue and struggling to keep any stains from his jacket.

But Bumi had Aang for a father. Aang had finally taken the awkward, fidgeting boy aside and given him express permission to be himself. And while the dinner conversation took a far more rambunctious turn after that, Bumi had relaxed and nothing had gone seriously wrong. Somehow Katara doubted that a fire nation prince was allowed such a luxury. She glanced back to the child. Still at attention. He had a stillness to his stance that would put any other eight year old to shame.

Relaxing, Katara spoke in a gentle tone. "I could be persuaded to forget the whole incident." Hope dawned ever so slightly in those gold eyes, but the boy stayed still. "On one condition…"

Iroh bit his bottom lip for a moment and looked up. "What condition?"

She smiled slightly. "My granddaughter wants to see your butterflies."

The boy's shoulders fell in a slow slump and he frowned. "I can't."

"Why?" She took a step forward, curious.

"I'm not supposed to play with fire." He sighed softly, shifting from foot to foot.

Katara frowned slightly and bent down to come more face to face with the child. She never quite understood the regimented culture of the fire nation, but this struck her as unusually strict. "What makes this different from other firebending?"

Iroh paused and went silent for a moment, finally answering her with a silent shrug. "Father says I should do the training exercises exactly as he shows me." He paused and took in a breath, admitting quietly, "he says I don't focus enough and I'm a bad firebender."

That caused the waterbender to raise a brow. She quietly took a seat on the patio bench and waved the boy to come sit beside her. "You know what, Prince Iroh? When I was a little girl I was afraid of fire. I didn't like what fire did to my family, and every time I saw firebending I thought it was scary. It took me a very long time to see things differently." She paused, watching the boy cast his eyes downwards. "My granddaughter is just forming her opinions on different sorts of people. She has a chance that I never had - she is young and impressionable. I would much rather have her witness beauty in firebending rather than fear. And you can do that." Another pause, letting that sink in. "I personally don't think that anyone who can create something beautiful is a bad bender. But if you like, I can get you permission to do so." Her blue eyes twinkled at last.

"You can?" He asked eyes wide in wonderment.

She smiled. "I am not _Master_ Katara for nothing, young prince."

xXx

"You engineered this." Even after all these years Zuko's voice never lost its roughness.

Katara leaned against the threshold of the doorway and hid the smile in her voice. "Maybe I'm just a wonderful diplomat."

"You're not." He tossed back.

"And neither are you." She paused, letting her serious expression slowly fade into mirth. Even after all these years, she couldn't resist getting a friendly dig in.

Zuko shrugged, playing along. "I have ambassadors for that."

"And I had a husband for that." She paused and sighed ruefully. She had grieved Aang's already, but years later his memory still bubbled up in ways that caused her pain and pride all at the same time. "I guess now I have to leave it to my children."

"I doubt you have much to worry about." He offered stepping up to stand by her side. "I think they turned out all right."

Momentarily the waterbender turned towards him, as if she was trying to dissect his expression. "Any reason they wouldn't?"

Zuko indulged in a rarely seen smile. "No. But it is good to see they will move forward without the baggage their elders possess."

"I thought we agreed to drop that baggage years ago?" Katara perked a brow.

He shrugged. "We did." Another pause, "but I do worry that _we_ are their baggage."

A momentary chuckle passed from her lips, a sound that hearkened back to the young girl she was decades ago. "I think, all things considered, the youngest generations are doing fairly well." A pause, she waved a hand to where the two children were talking and playing with animated joy.

The Firelord mused on this for several long seconds before giving a silent nod of agreement. Another pause and he mused, "She looks a lot like you."

"Look who's talking" the waterbender smirked.

Zuko perked his good brow. "I hope for his sake he never looks like me," He murmured quietly.

Katara smacked him lightly across the arm, the sort of playful gesture very few in creation could get away with. "I though we were dropping baggage tonight?"

Leaning back, the firelord watched as a tiny flame butterfly flew by and finally relaxed into a smile. "I suppose it's a good night to start."

xXx

_A/N Ok, I went with the popularly held belief that Zuko's daughter might be named Ursa. Because I think Honora sounds a bit foolish. . I reserve the right to edit names if/when these characters are actually introduced._

_Was hoping to have this done weeks ago, but work ate my face. I'm behind on comment replies, too. Most sincere apologies I will get on those! Many thanks for the comments and feedback readers have given so far!_


	10. Loneliness

xXx

9

"**Loneliness"**

xXx

His parents were starting to catch on that Iroh was clever. At first Sazan had credited his ability to rapidly progress through his lessons on history, calligraphy, scroll reading and other academic pursuits as the counterpart to his slow firebending start. In the years he could not bend fire, he had extra time to spend studying other areas. But as he grew it became clear that while his firebending was still showing painfully slow progress, he was still progressing rapidly in his other lessons. In some ways it was a blessing in disguise, allowing him to spend more time on firebending without falling behind in his other studies.

In other ways it drove his tutors nuts.

In every history narrative, the boy would pick apart the tale and ask questions about why things happened and how the side that was villainized in the account came to their actions. Endlessly curious, when his tutors ran out of answers they would find other scrolls on the subject which Iroh voraciously consumed. Which would sate him only until the next subject arose, and he would start to endlessly pester the tutors with questions again. They said he had a 'restless mind' and encouraged Sazan to find other things for the boy to focus on.

So his father taught him how to play pai sho.

Sazan started with the basics, and encouraged him to play against his brother. He hoped it would strengthen Kuzon's beginning skills and be a pastime both children could share. And for the first few months it worked perfectly.

Then Iroh started to win. Once he learned the strategy of the game he could start to plan around Kuzon's moves. And once he found that he was actually better at something than his oh so perfect brother, Iroh threw himself into the study of pai sho with a dogged determination and a frightening focus. He tested moves and strategies, deliberately lost games to see the way certain gambits played out, tried pieces he didn't favor and forced himself to play different starting lineups just to test the theories he was reading about.

By the time Iroh was eight, the only times Kuzon won was when Iroh planned to let him win. At times he felt faintly guilty, but he valued the time spent with Kuzon enough to throw some games in his favor. So far Kuzon had not caught on. He hoped.

xXx

It was quiet in the palace today. Mother was away on an important diplomatic trip with Grandfather. Kuzon was invited to an important meeting with Father. Grandmother was at an important luncheon with a group of up-and-coming business owners.

Everyone seemed to have something important to do, except Iroh.

He sighed, wandering aimlessly about the hallways of the palace. His homework was done, his firebending practice done. His list of necessities crossed off, he was at a loss for what to do next.

Stopping by a window seat, he slumped down and sighed. If he thought about it academically there was plenty to still do. There were scrolls to read and maps to pore over. Extra firebending training couldn't hurt, or walking in the yard. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that his restlessness was less about boredom and more about loneliness. Any of those options would seem so much better if there were only someone to do them with.

Chewing his bottom lip, Iroh folded his arms across his chest. What he really longed to do was play Pai Sho, but he couldn't think of anyone left on the palace grounds who would make for an interesting match.

His breath caught in his throat. On second thought he could think of one person.

xXx

She had not been considered a threat for many years. After Avatar Aang removed her ability to firebend she spent several years in a hospital designed to treat ailments of the mind as well as the body. When she came back to the capital city she was quiet.

Firelord Zuko visited her almost every day, sometime for only a minute or two, sometimes for hours. It depended on how quickly she insisted he leave.

General Iroh had been the surprise. The first time he had stopped by she yelled at him until her throat was sore and yet he did not leave. He sat there calmly making tea while she ranted. He offered her a cup, she refused to drink. When she quieted, he suggested they play Pai Sho. She threw the board at him.

The next week he returned, again with tea. Again with Pai Sho. She didn't yell as long this time, and they actually played a game. To General Iroh's surprise, she was quite good at it.

It became a weekly ritual, the tea, the challenge of the game, the odd talks while they contemplated strategy. Azula never said thank you, and Iroh never pressed the issue. And yet the week he failed to come, she cried.

While Zuko had never forbidden her from leaving the grounds of her home he did stipulate that she have a guard when she did. It was never necessary; she enforced her own house arrest better than any guard could. The day of Iroh's funeral was the last time she ventured out.

Azula. Once Princess Azula, the favored daughter of Firelord Ozai and for a mere day Firelord Azula was now most commonly called 'Crazy Aunt Azula' or 'that witch hidden in the back of the palace'

That last one she actively cultivated by a well honed game of anger and fear designed to keep irritating children from bothering her. Waning out her days, aging and useless was insufferable enough; the teasing of those little brats was unbearable. When she heard the knock at her door she fell into her timeworn role as the insane witch, yelling threats and obscenities towards the landing.

After a few seconds she paused, listening for the all too familiar, satisfying pitter-patter of feet running away, the light yelps of fear.

Silence.

Another knock, more polite than the first.

She gritted her teeth. That was not her brother; he never came to the front door. And her inability to see anyone through the nearby window told her that whoever was knocking was at least a head shorter than an adult. So a child. She didn't know any children who would want to see her. So either this one was particularly brave, foolhardy – or both. Standing, she pushed her grey hair back from her face and stalked towards the entryway. She fixed the sternest, most aggressive expression she could fit on her face and threw the door open.

Her jaw dropped.

She was thrown back to a memory of when she was seven, tossing stones at turtle ducks. The bank was slippery after a fresh rain and in her stupidity; she stepped too close and fell right in. It might have been all right had her idiot brother not witnessed the whole affair and run over to give her a hug.

She _hated_ that memory.

But still the kid stood there, watching her without fear and without gawking. She narrowed her eyes to gaze back at him when he offered her a slight bow, the sort reserved for respectfully greeting elder family members. She frowned. "Who are you?"

"Iroh." He answered the question dutifully.

The name made her skin crawl. She had forcibly pushed that name from her mind, tried to forget the succor and time offered if only because she knew she had never repaid him for it. And yet he lingered in her dreams and every once in a while she could hear one of his stupid proverbs ringing in her ears. Her brother's face… her uncle's name. This had to be the brat grandchild of her precious Zuzu. "What do you want?"

He looked up; he had the same shy manner as his grandfather did at that age, but a stronger voice. "I came to ask for a game of Pai Sho."

She snorted in laughter. "Don't be silly, you're a child!"

"Does that mean you do not remember how to play?" he asked innocently, with an underlying bite to the words that fit any high court conversation like a glove.

Azula lifted a brow, vaguely interested. Rather than appeal to her sentiments, he had gone for wordplay and manipulation. Maybe he wasn't _entirely_ like Zuzu after all. "Of course I know how to play" she struck back, leaning imperiously over him. She paused and considered the child for a moment, "I thought your fire sage father forbid you from coming over here."

He shrugged a little. "He did. I came anyways."

"You came even though you were forbidden? How interesting." She returned in a smooth tone. "Tell me, why are you_ really_ here?"

Iroh looked up and was silent for several long seconds. He considered confessing that he thought she might be lonely, but he also remembered his mother telling him that Aunt Azula never recognized her own failures, only those in others. He fixed her gaze and took in a breath, "I was lonely."

"Ha! Go away, foolish boy. Find someone else to play Pai Sho with," she scoffed. Her eyes were hard as she shut the door between them.

Iroh gave a small sigh, and turned. He had tried, at least.

Azula hadn't taken more than a step away from the door when she felt a chill pass over her, the sick sorrow and loneliness she felt ever since her uncle died seemed to hit her harder now than ever before. She brushed her hair back into place and opened the door once again.

His foot had just hit the top step when he heard her say, "One game, that's all."

xXx

Three games and an entire pot of white jasmine tea later, as the sun sank to the edge of the sky, young Iroh took his leave. Azula had, between moves here and there, daydreamed about how easy it would be to dispatch this young price, especially since he had come to her so willingly. She dismissed the thoughts with the notion that he was too young to really be a good challenge as a target. Maybe when he was older. But as the smell of tea faded and the sound of the Pai Sho pieces being put dutifully back into their place crossed the room she felt a tinge of regret, of sadness. Against her will her uncle was called to mind. She gave a short scoff as his voice rang through her head with one of those stupid proverbs.

"Anything wrong?" the boy asked, turning as he tucked the last of his things away, heading out.

"No." She snapped all too quickly. A pause, she eyed the child and an idea formed. "Actually yes. That Dreadnought Gambit of yours is terrible."

"It is not a move usually taught in Pai Sho anymore." he admitted, head turned slightly down.

"You realize it will only get better with practice?" she lectured, taking the tone of a teacher all too easily.

Iroh considered this for a moment and gave a slow nod. "I will practice." For a moment he raised his eyes to her, to confirm his suspicion of an unspoken invitation. "Lapsang souchong?"

"Preferable over white jasmine, yes." She eyed him, offering a barely perceptible nod of assent.

"Of course." He offered a light familial bow of respect to an elder. "Thank you Aunt Azula."

She pointed to the door, severe as ever, "Get out of here, kid."

Only when he was past the yard and out of sight did she permit herself the smallest of smiles.

xXx

_A/N: So... have an unplanned move into a new house is not a good way to keep up on writing. But, the new house has a lovely writing nook, so hopefully more updates. :) Much love for patient readers ~PSG_


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